Robb at the Crossing
by Rehblick
Summary: This story began as a one-shot "what if?" on the portentous Stark/Frey pact (GOT Catelyn 59). But the ripples became waves sweeping up major and several very minor characters, one in particular. Enjoy.
1. Justice

**Robb at the Crossing, Part I**

"_**Do**_ you consent?"

He regarded the Frey host trooping across the draw bridge. Grey Wind watched, too, hair up and crouching.

"Robb?"

He motioned his mother closer. "What do you make of Ser Stevron Frey?"

"When Walder spoke rudely to me, Stevron objected. He rides and fights; maybe the best of the brood. More Royce than Frey, I'd say. He has been waiting a long time."

"And how did Walder respond to his heir's words?"

"Harshly."

"And how does grandfather deal with oathbreakers?"

"As your father would, as you would. Robb, what is your meaning? We have a pledge."

"Mother, I must speak with my council. Let Walder think I can't make my own decisions. To me, boy!" Robb wheeled his mount and trotted back to camp.

_**The**_ lords bannermen fell silent when Ser Stevron was ushered into the tent.

"Welcome, Ser; I apologize for this delay. It was important that we set the order of march. You would do me honor by escorting Lady Catelyn across the Green Fork. Your words today are not forgotten."

For a moment Stevron glanced at Catelyn, and then back to Robb. "That was my intent, and all the way to Riverrun. I take it then that you would be my brother. Shall I tell my father?"

"Tell the Lord of the Crossing that I consent to his conditions, and that I would cross while there is still light."

"I will meet you at the gate within the hour."

"We will remember."

After Ser Stevron left Rob turned to Umber. "The third wagon; make it look real. Kill the horses if necessary. We will need an hour." And then to Bolton, "Hold this bank. See that Ser Jared does not interfere." And to all, "Keep it friendly with Frey's men; share wine, trade japes, but move your men quietly into the gate houses and on to the walls. I pray there will be no fighting; but if so end it quickly."

_**Robb**_, Lady Catelyn, Ser Brynden, Theon, and 100 chosen Tully and Stark men waited just beyond the moat as the great column crawled through the eastern gate. The vanguard had swiftly ridden ahead and occupied the far shore. Ser Stevron sat his horse restlessly. "Stark, is it your plan to march all night? At this pace it will already be dark before all your men cross. Look, even now the column stops."

"Seven Hells! You're right. Forward. I'll know what is wrong!"

Robb and his escort found a path among the halted wagons and entered the eastern gate. He cursed long and loud upon seeing the jammed mass of men, horses and laden carts stretching ahead toward the water tower. Everywhere men of many sigils mingled amiably. Robb seethed. A rider making his way urgently back to the eastern shore shouted to Robb, "Wagons block the far gate!"

"How bad is it?"

"A shambles! The Greatjon himself is clearing the wrecks."

"My, such troubles. I am certain the Greatoaf will acquit himself in due time, but perhaps you'd best send your fishy uncle across the river to help. I hear he swims well, heh!"

Robb glanced around and seemed to notice for the first time Walder Frey reclining in his litter beside the tower entrance. Four men-at-arms stood guard. Brynden was glaring at Walder.

"My lord Frey I assure you we will be gone by nightfall." Dismounting, Robb walked up to the litter and curtly nodded. "Is there a place where we may talk? I have no doubt there are Lannister ears about."

"In my keep? Only guests. But I'll hear you in the hall. Stevron! I believe you know the way; lead on! Try not to stumble. And Stark, keep that mangy wolf of yours outside."

They ascended the wide steps into the reception hall, the Freys first. Robb, Catelyn, Theon and Brynden walked abreast just behind Walder's litter. A dozen burly Northerners loitered at the tower entrance. The remainder waited at the foot of the stairs until the litter and its bearers turned a corner at the top. Robb paused and raised his hand. The men surged up the stairs and into the hall. With undrawn swords they filled the chamber, blocking the doors and windows with their bodies. Grey Wind leapt to Robb's side. The twenty Frey men in the hall and Walder's bodyguards hesitated, looking at Ser Stevron. His sword remained sheathed.

"Treachery!" screamed Walder, "kill them all!"

Ser Stevron folded his arms. Grey Wind growled.

"Only justice," Brynden replied. "Lord Hoster lies near to death, his son wears Lannister shackles. I speak for House Tully. You refused your lord's banner call. You barred your gates to our passage and treated with our enemies. I declare your lands and titles forfeit. You will be taken to Riverrun to suffer your fate."

"Hold there, Tully get, I have the word of young Stark, my future son. Defend me!"

"My promise was to the Lord of the Crossing. Brynden, do you hold House Frey attainted?"

"No. I recognize Ser Stevron as Lord of the Crossing."

"Then my word is kept."

"Tywin was right; the Kingslayer would have made a better match. Traitors all! You think you can shove old Walder aside so easily? Your archers missed a few crows. I'll outlive you all." Walder rose from his litter unassisted. "Stevie, you worthless whoreson, have you nothing to say?"

"Father, I fear you may not survive the journey." Drawing his sword and pointing it at Walder, Lord Stevron told the Frey men-at-arms, "Bind, gag and hood this man. If he resists, kill him."


	2. Choice

**Robb at the Crossing, Part II **

**_Robb is thrown a curve and finds new interests_**

_Note: I had not planned on continuing this story but JohnnyHarder's "Crossing the Freys" and our subsequent correspondence got me thinking. Perhaps there was something else behind Robb's ruse. Also I anticipate that after "a certain episode airs" in season 3 of Game of Thrones there will be renewed interest in Robb "what ifs?"_

_**The**_ rumors had spread faster than Lord Frey's summons to the family to assemble immediately in the Great Hall. Reactions ran from elation to consternation. The old man was not loved; everyone had longed for his departure. The concern was among those who had ever wronged Stevron. Only Aegon, "Jinglebell", might have felt sorrow had he the wits to grasp his grandfather's fate. Walder was in the habit of tossing the fool some table scrap at mealtimes. He'd laugh himself into a coughing fit as Jinglebell scrambled about the floor like a hungry cur.

Still it was a shock to see Stevron seated in the Lord's chair; and beside him sat Ser Brynden Tully. It was true then. "The Freys are bannermen of House Tully. Today we march to war against the Lannister outlaws who savage our lands. My father had sought advantage from this threat. He treated with our enemies and refused his lord's call. For these crimes he forfeited his lands and titles and will receive justice. But House Frey has not been tainted by his disloyalty. All that was ours remains ours." There was an audible exhalation from the Freys at this. They were well aware that Robb Stark's army now controlled the Twins.

_**Grey**_ Wind was curled up in a large furry ball on a bearskin he had appropriated on the floor of the council chamber. Robb looked up from a map he had been studying with Frey, Bolton, Umber, Brynden and Theon.

"My Lord Frey there is the matter of our agreement. This war may last years and I may not return until it ends. I would know what to expect. May I meet your Walda before taking leave of the Twins?"

"You are familiar with my family, Robb Stark?"

"I was attentive when Maester Luwin taught the Great Houses."

"Then you know that … no matter; we may both learn something. Please excuse me; it will only take a few minutes." Stevron stood up and left the chamber.

The others looked quizzically at Robb.

"Mother?"

Catelyn spoke from across the room where she had been sitting quietly. "What my son intends is marriage with Ser Stevron's heir. His first born son is Ryman. His first born is Edwyn. He has no sons, only a daughter, Walda. She is now third in line. I believe she is eight years."

Bolton nodded. "The Twins and Winterfell joined, admirable."

Theon and Umber laughed. "A bit young for my taste," Theon smirked; "but in 2-3 years, who knows?"

Brynden looked at Robb with a thin smile. "Not before her flowering, Robb," he said sternly.

"My sister Sansa is in waiting. Is it not the custom, nuncle?"

The conversation returned to the campaign. They glanced up when Stevron entered leading a slender young woman. She wore leather riding boots and a simple knee length blue tunic emblazoned with the Frey sigil. A sash emphasized her small waist. Robb's face betrayed his confusion; this girl was 17 at least. But then their eyes met. She smiled. It was as if the gloomy room had suddenly become brilliant with the summer sun. He felt warm for the first time that day. Her smile was a little lopsided; there was some mark on her left cheek; her blonde hair was unbound and hung loose past her shoulders; there were curves that demanded his attention; there was a look of mischief about her. She was beautiful beyond words. The men rose. Robb stepped forward, bowed and took her hand. Grey Wind bestirred himself, loped over and lay beside her. She reached down and scratched behind his ears. The direwolf licked her hand.

"Robb Stark, this is Walda, daughter of my third son Walton. Ah now, here's my little darling, Walda, daughter of my grandson, Edwyn."

A girl about Arya's age came running up and curtsied awkwardly. He bowed to her and then turned to Catelyn. She was laughing.

"Robb Stark," the older Walda spoke clearly with a hint of honey, "Robb Stark, I have one wish."

"Yes, milady?"

"That I may go with you."

Home to Winterfell, he dreamed. "Truly my mother would appreciate a companion. You have much to discuss. But this is your grandfather's decision."

"I and nearly all my house march with you Stark. She will be as well in the field or in Riverrun as here."

"I can ride and handle a bow," she stated proudly.

This one was full of surprises.

Stevron placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Indeed, she hunts well; though too impetuous at times. She's been known to frighten the quarry."

Robb gestured to the great direwolf lolling contentedly at her feet. "In matters of the chase I've learned deference to Grey Wind."

The Greatjon slapped Robb on the back with such force he nearly propelled Robb into Walda. "Well said, lad; the wolf has chosen! But have a care milady; he bites."

Robb steadied himself, took both her hands in his and kissed her cheek. "A moment ago I did not imagine you existed and now you command my heart. In the morning or the next there will be a battle. You will remain at my mother's side, for both your sakes. It is late now and we must ride."


	3. First Battle

**Robb at the Crossing, Part III **

_**First battle**_

_** The**_ slight figure in Frey azure walking quickly through the hasty encampment would seem only some squire on an errand, had anyone noticed. Anyone of note was trying to steal a few hours sleep. The call to arms would be at the darkest hour; the host to be marshaled by the first glimmer of twilight; the first charge to go in at sunrise. Everyone else busied themselves tending horses, cleaning armor, sharpening weapons, distributing bundles of arrows and bolts, and preparing a cold gruel to accompany a spare breakfast of cold ham, stale bread and ale. "No fires!" was the order and the first and only one to violate the order was already cold. He had been a squire; his knight was in chains.

A shadow lifted the tent flap and slipped inside. There was no light, only a darker shadow seated on a camp chair. "You came. I hadn't seen you during the march. Riding with your betters, I was thinking; starting to put on airs; too busy for your cousin."

"This is my first battle and I may not fight another."

"Frightened, little one? Far better to seek death out than hide from it; you're so surprised when you come out alive."

"No, not scared. But if I die I want man-scent on me."

"Ser High-and-Mighty not man enough for you?"

"He doesn't sleep. He's scouting the field. I'd be with him but I have orders. He doesn't like you to disobey his orders."

"Good enough. But it's more than your stink I want."

"I'll fight you."

"Good."

_** They**_ were approaching from downwind. The smells from the Lannister camp were growing stronger, wood smoke, meat grilling, horses, cattle and unwashed men; many men. Grey Wind's nose was up, working the field side to side, just barely in sight. Robb signaled a trot. The command was relayed by a hundred waving banners up and down the line. Four-thousand horsemen picked up the pace. The ground rumbled. "That'll wake them up!" shouted Theon. "And herald their deaths," Brynden replied. There was a slight rise ahead with a thin covering of trees. There had been a score of pickets posted. They lay silent, their blood not yet congealed. Beyond the ground sloped gently down to a field where the horses were tethered in long lines. Near the middle a hundred aurochs shifted nervously in their stockade. An expedient palisade of sharpened stakes surrounded the camp which was now beginning to stir. Somewhere beyond that shadows and mist obscured the Red Fork and the towers of Riverrun. Robb signaled the canter. Again the banners waved. Again the pace quickened. Robb glanced anxiously to the east where the colors of dawn were starting to paint the clouds. Grey Wind reached the crest of the rise and began to howl. In the camp horns blew and drums beat, the call to arms! A flaming arrow rose high in the western sky. "Greatjon's signal, at the gallop!" The banners waved.

The horsemen thundered up the rise as an arc of blinding sunlight peeked above the horizon. A thousand gleaming spear points caught the first rays. Robb rode up to where Grey Wind stood howling. Below was a maelstrom of bellowing cattle, spooked horses and frantic men struggling to saddle and mount. The gates through the palisade were open. On the opposite side of the camp a storm of fire arrows descended; already flames were leaping from dozens of pavilions. Umber's host had broken through the first line, breached the palisade and was nearly to the tents. Robb stood up in his saddle and drew his sword, _"Kill them!"_ A score of trumpeters sounded the charge. Brynden took the left wing and Robb the right. A hundred beaters with blazing torches headed straight for the panicked paddock. The rider-less horses tore loose from the lines and stampeded through the gates and into the camp, collapsing tents, overturning cookfires, trampling men. The maddened aurochs smashed their makeshift fence and made a new passage through the palisade. Nothing survived in their wake.

The Lannister army began to rout. But not all of it. A powerful troop of several hundred heavy cavalry flying yellow banners had entered the field and was moving aggressively on Robb's flank. The commander wore the armor of the Kingsguard. He had seen the Stark banner and sought a decisive kill. Robb ordered Theon and two of his captains with half his wing to take the opposing horse in the rear, knowing the split would appear to be his men breaking. The remainder he formed up into a line 5 score wide and 10 ranks deep. The riders executed the maneuver smartly. Placing himself at the front he ordered, "At the gallop, forward!" The enemy accepted the challenge and charged. It is said that a horse will not willingly run into an obstacle, and will shy to the side. Normally. But the fury of battle affects man and horse. With comrades left and right, shouting, snorting, sweat and lather flying, their blood up, all surging forward as one body toward an object of utter hatred they will attempt impossible things. The clash when it came splintered lances, shattered shields, broke bones and tore flesh. Some mounts leapt the first rank and smashed into the second. The rear ranks collapsed forward. The crush at the front was so great that men could not swing their blades. They jabbed at each other with knives, kicking, gouging, and biting. Robb and the opposing commander saw each other clearly and spit oaths; but could not fight their way close enough to trade blows. Horses went down carrying their riders with them into a bloody shambles. It could not last, one or the other would break. It came with trumpets and shouts of _"Winterfell, Tully, Frey, Umber, the North!"_ Theon had struck. A shiver passed through the Lannister men. The knight of the Kingsguard cursed and shouted, "_Hold! Stand fast!"_ But their furor was spent and each sought escape. It was enough. Robb and those remaining of the first two ranks were finally free to use their swords. The slaughter began.

_** Lady**_ Catelyn and Walda had approached the fighting as close as the captain of the life guards would permit. They were six chosen Stark men and had sworn a mighty oath to Robb that very morning. The smoke from the burning camp was a good sign. But the flow of wounded men and horses limping to the rear was increasing. They had halted on a small hill which offered a partial view of the battlefield. It appeared to be littered with colored rags, mostly red; not evenly distributed but in clumps, piles and windrows. There was the faint accompaniment of screaming men and horses. From a tree line some 300 paces to their left a dozen horsemen suddenly burst forth. "Lannisters!" one of the guards shouted. "Ride to the camp, Lady Catelyn; we'll hold them here!" Catelyn spurred her horse but had gone only a few paces before realizing that Walda was not following. "Walda, come now!" Without turning or speaking the girl quickly reached into a leather case strapped to the side of her saddle and pulled out a strangely curved bow. With what must have been her legs and feet she controlled her twitchy mount, turning him to face the attackers. From a quiver on the other side she picked an arrow. She notched it and pulled the string in one fluid motion back to her ear. The bending bow creaked loudly. She released and the arrow vanished. The string thrummed. There was a streak through the air and one of the attackers fell backwards off his horse. She repeated this five more times. The sixth attacker took his arrow in the back. The survivors were in full flight before the life guards had reached them. They pursued. Walda cantered up to each of her victims in turn, jumped from her saddle, cut out her arrows and took an ear. One, the last, was still alive. "Mercy," he gasped. She pulled his head back and slit his throat before claiming her prize. But she had yanked out the arrow first. It came with a piece of lung. When she came trotting back with her bloody trophies strung on a cord and held high Catelyn was staring in disbelief. Walda was grinning. Her face and clothes splattered with blood, her hands crimson. "My first kills in battle!"

"Walda, I … thank you. You may have saved us all. But I don't understand. How did you do this? Why did you take their ears?"

"This is a Dothraki bow. I hunt with it. It is expected to take tokens in battle; only small ones as there were six. A bloodrider travels light. It is known."

Catelyn was bewildered.

"Oh, don't think me mad. I just lived my warrior dream. Our armorer had gone across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities. The bow he bought in a bazaar. I bought it from him. He told me all about the Dothraki."

"Walda you make me think of my daughter Arya and Nymeria."

"The Queen of the Roynar?"

"No, Arya's direwolf. All my children have … had a wolf."

"Grey Wind is my friend."

Catelyn suddenly slumped in her saddle and covered her face with her hands. Walda could hear her sobbing. She dismounted and removed a water skin from her saddle bag. She splashed water on her hands and wiped them clean with grasses torn from the ground. "Lady Catelyn," Walda reached up to take her hand, "Robb is alive and victorious."

Catelyn looked at her, "How …?"

"Those men were running from the battle; they met us by chance. And look, those are our banners on the field. The fighting is over."

"And Robb?"

"Grey Wind is pleased."

"And … Ned, Arya, Sansa?"

"I am sorry. I cannot see that far."

The six lifeguards rode up, winded but in high spirits. The captain dismounted, approached Lady Catelyn and bowed. "I prayed you had returned to camp. There may be other stragglers about. But I see there was no need to worry." Turning to Walda he bowed a degree deeper. "Milady, we thought you just a Frey lass not a Wildling maid." The men laughed. Lady Caetlyn frowned disapprovingly. But Walda beamed. "Beg your pardon, milady. The men were of differing minds until we came back and saw your kills. We all agreed you should have these. We took them off their leader." He held out his hand. In it rested 6 golden dragons. She took them from his hand one by one. "Ser, you honor me more than I can say. Please have your men dismount." By now the numbers returning to camp had become a steady flow. Many had paused to see what transpired with Lady Catelyn and the pretty girl.

The life guards, anticipating the command, swung down from their horses and instinctively fell into a single rank, tallest to shortest, left to right. Walda brushed aside a blonde red-speckled lock that had fallen across her brow. "Today we fought together. I count you my brothers. I already have my tokens of victory. You shall share the spoils." Starting with the shortest man she took his hand and placed a golden dragon in it. Then she smiled and kissed him. There was nothing maidenly about it. "Ah, you have a wound. See to it. I shall check later." As she reached the taller end of the line, the men were bending their heads down eagerly. Finally she turned to the captain. She placed the remaining coin in his hand and with both of hers closed his. "This was my first battle. Did I do well?" He stood there for a moment, flustered. "Milady, I have never seen better shots from horseback. Those men were Lannister household. They wore good mail. I believe I owe you my life. What say you lads?" They were peasant boys, sons of crafters and merchants. Ser Rodrik Cassel had chosen them from among the many for their way with horses, talent with weapons, wits and willingness to accept orders. They would do what was expected. For honor and duty each was prepared to die for any of the Starks. But this savage young woman with the powerful arms, amber eyes, and hot kisses, they _loved_. _"Walda!"_ they shouted. "_Wal-da, Wal-da!"_ She threw her arms around the startled captain and kissed him deepest of all. Those who had paused to watch began to take up the chant. Others farther away who had no idea what the words meant joined in. Catelyn knew she had just witnessed something remarkable.

"_**And**_ the Kingslayer?" Robb demanded.

"Nothing; we've been chasing ghosts and rumors of ghosts," replied Ser Brynden as he stomped to his seat at the great trestle table. He was mud splattered, tired and in a foul mood. "How is it possible he escaped the camp?! We had it surrounded on land and Lord Blackwood held the river. If I had taken the right wing he'd be dead or in chains!"

"We did have him, nuncle! Seven hells! He was as close to me as Greatjon is now at the end of this table. We traded curses! There was no lack of will to close on either side. When they broke he disappeared. We chased them all and killed all we caught."

"Yes; you had him and let him go. You wasted days training your men to perform fancy tournament tricks. It sapped their furor. In battle you charge and you kill; there is no time to trot about in neat lines. You made weaklings of them."

"Sapped their furor?! Weaklings?!" Theon spoke with difficulty, his jaw bandaged from a sword cut. "There was no lack of furor on the right! When I was unhorsed and lay wounded on the ground, ten of my men, common men, not knights, nobody of high family or note, circled me and fought like demons until I could remount. Eight of them died. And many more in our charge. How many gave their lives on the left? It must have been dangerous chasing cows, stepping in shit!"

"So, young pup of Pyke, eight good men died because you couldn't keep your saddle."

His eyes livid, Theon flung back his chair and drew his sword. Brynden's blade flashed from its scabbard.

"_Hold!"_ shouted Robb smashing his fist on the table. "Jaime Lannister will have his victory even now if we start quarreling among ourselves. He may have escaped but without his army. We have the initiative. We will retain it by striking south, cutting the kingsroad and forcing Tywin to face two directions. And know this Ser Brynden, Theon is my father's ward, a member of my household. Attack him, you attack me. And Theon, draw a sword again in my council and I'll have you in chains." Both men sullenly sheathed their swords and sat down, still glaring at each other. Umber nodded approvingly to Robb. "Now, Lord Frey, you were speaking of your losses."

"Yes, Robb Stark, we killed and captured many hundreds but not without cost: 60 riders, 20 archers, 30 men-at-arms; of men of note only my grandson Walder, Ser Ryman's son."

"It grieves me to hear this. I'm sure he did honor to his house."

Frey coughed. "He … did not die in battle. We could not find him this morning."

Brynden interjected, "This is not possible! Black Walder never ran from a fight!"

"Permit me." Frey continued. "We found his body this afternoon in bushes near the path to the camp latrines. He had been mutilated, as if savaged by war dogs."

The men stared at Frey in shock.

"What became of the Lannister pack?" asked Robb. "I didn't see any of the brutes today."

Theon spoke up. "If a pack were loose last night there would be reports from the pickets. I visited the latrines twice, as did many of us. Didn't see a damn thing. Grey Wind would have smelled them out." The other council members shifted uncomfortably and then looked to Robb.

"Lord Frey, Walder will be counted among the battle dead. There is no hint of dishonor here."

"_**What**_ do you know of Walda?"

"She'll never inherit the Twins," Robb replied.

"Today I saw what she is capable of. It frightened me. You spoke with the captain of the life guard?"

"Yes, mother. He was very impressed. I do believe he loves her. They all do."

"This doesn't bother you?"

"I understand. I love her, too. And she knows more about inspiring men than Sers and Lords thrice her age. I've a mind to give her a troop of horse."

"And this Dothraki game she plays? I insisted she wash before seeing you. She said the Khal expects to see his bloodriders covered in enemy blood. It is known."

"And if the Dothraki are anything like her I'd pay for a thousand. I intend to try that bow of hers."

"I doubt if she is pure. There is talk she shared the bed of her cousin."

"It is well that one of us is experienced. I would not want a night with her wasted in clumsy grappling."

"Robb!"

"Sorry mother, but nothing you say changes my feelings. Would you have me send her home and pledge myself to Little Walda? I cannot wait that long and I might not live that long."

"There is one more thing. Her great grandmother was a Royce."

"And Stevron's mother was a Royce. I do not think any less of him for it."

"The Royces are an ancient family. They claim descent from the First Men and consorted with the children of the forest before the Andals."

"And so, too, the Starks. I've heard all this from Old Nan."

"A trait may skip one generation or many only to reappear in full force; an ancient trait such as skinchanging. Walda told me that Grey Wind was her friend and through him knew that you lived. She said she couldn't _see_ your father and sisters."

"That could mean anything. Besides, the wolf loves her. _He_ chose _her_."

"Are you sure?"

"Wait, her cousin, the one the rumors speak of; do you know his name?"

"Another Walder. Black Walder. Why do you ask? You're not thinking of confronting him?"

"He was killed this morning by wild dogs, it is thought."

Catelyn stared at him wide eyed. "Where was Grey Wind?

"With me, scouting; but there were long stretches when I did not see him. After the battle he was so covered in gore there was no telling how many of what he had killed. Some saw him rip the bellies of Lannister chargers."

"And now?"

"He hunts at night; I don't always feel his presence. Mother, there are times when I dream I am Grey Wind. I feel the snow beneath his paws. Everything he feels, I feel. I've tasted his kills. Bran told me as much about Summer; and Arya, about Nymeria; and I'm sorry, mother, Jon about Ghost. Are we all skinchangers, wargs?"

"The power is not just vivid dreams, or even control over animals. I've heard Nan's tales, too.

"Just what are you saying, then?"

"I don't know, Robb! I can't help it. I love that strange girl. But I'm frightened for you!"

He stood up and hugged her.

"Mother it is late and Walda is waiting."

_** She**_ had been given a small chamber overlooking the Godswood. It had not been cleaned since the siege began. She found a broom and went to work. It improved things somewhat. She arranged her kit on a large chest and then worked the fire until its warmth filled the room. She looked out the window. In the darkness below a large shadow was moving. She whistled. The direwolf answered with a happy yip. "Here boy!" She moved back from the window and whistled again. Could he do it? There was a thump and a scrabbling at the sill. Then a bigger thump on the ground outside. "Try again, boy!" There was a low growl this time, followed by a louder thump and Grey Wind landed, head and forelegs in the window, the rest out; he woofed, his big eyes pleading. Walda rushed forward, grabbed his legs and pulled. There was a mad scrambling on the outside wall below the sill. Finally a paw found purchase and the wolf heaved himself into the room. He landed on Walda. Laughing she crawled out from under him. "Good wolf!" He licked her face. "The taste of our enemies, Grey Wind; now stop, you'll take all the blood off. My Khal must see for himself." She rubbed his fur. "You're wet. He already saw you, and sent you to swim in the river, yes boy?" They looked into each other's eyes, so alike.

There came a knock. "Walda, it's Robb. May I enter?"

She ran to the door and threw it open. "Robb Stark! We've been waiting forever."

He looked around inside and saw his wolf sitting attentively in the corner. "How the devil did you get in here?"

Walda smiled and pointed to the window. He walked across the room and looked out; and then back to Grey Wind; and again out the window. "You haven't grown wings, have you boy?" He scratched the wolf's neck with both hands and brought his head close to stare into the yellow, luminous eyes. The wolf licked him. Walda stood beside him, placed her arm around his back, grasping his belt. She leaned against his side and closed her eyes. Robb turned and studied her face. He placed a finger in his mouth, moistened it and gently rubbed one of the dark splotches on her forehead. The blood came off on his finger. "Is it proper for a Khal to bathe his brave bloodrider?"

"I have not heard it said but it would please me."

"Sit here, then." There was a pot of water warming above the fire and some clean rags on the mantle. He took these things and sat on the floor in front of Walda. He dipped a rag into the water and began cleaning her face. He worked slowly and thoroughly, and then washed her ears and throat. He found on the latter that he was removing more than blood. There was a sort of flesh-colored cream. Under it were fresh bruises and unhealed scratches. As gently as he tried to clean them she winced. He stopped then. Looking around the room he found a brush on a table. This was, after all, a lady's chamber. He retrieved it and then sat beside her on the bed and tenderly brushed her hair. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, "Nobody has done that for me since I was very small. I'd forgotten what it meant to me."

"Do I get one of those kisses you were giving away today?"

She wiped her eyes and smiled. "They must be earned. How many ears did you take?"

"If I had started doing that I'd still be on the field cutting, instead of here with you."

"Do you have any wounds?"

"Ah, yes; those hurt. But none fatal."

"Show me."

He removed his tunic. A large bandage covered his upper chest, stained with blood. There were a dozen cuts on his arms. Across his back an enormous bruise blossomed. "That's where I took a war hammer. It dented my armor and nearly unhorsed me. And speaking of ears, I almost lost one." He pulled his hair aside. His left ear was swollen and bloody. There were dark gaps where skin should be. She examined it closely. "The maester should see to that. You could lose it still."

"Enough? I could show you more."

"Time enough, later. You've earned your kiss."

He had anticipated this moment but was unprepared for the torrent of passion and fire. For a fleeting moment he felt he had passed into her and she into him. He could hear their heartbeats racing and the calls of night birds leagues away. He could smell Walda's rising heat and fading flowers in the Godswood. He could see himself, and then both he and she from a distance, embracing. He couldn't breathe. He was falling. An instant later he was lying flat on his back, his lips sore and burning. His mouth filled with the sweet taste of her. He had never felt so alive. "That's what you gave the guardsmen?"

"Oh, no; that was only for you. They would have died. You are a much stronger man and of weirblood."

"I want more."

"I will give all."

He noticed the wolf staring at them, panting rapidly. "Does he have to watch?"

"Not _only_ watch. Grey Wind is more than our friend, Robb Stark; he is one with us."

_** High**_ in the North Tower a raven settled on its perch causing a bell to ring in Maester Vyman's chamber. He hurried as best an old man can hurry to the loft and its cote. He recognized the preening bird as one of Grand Maester Pycelle's flock. He removed the message it carried and began to read. "My," he murmured, "such news on such a day." Then he heard the sound. He walked to each of the loft's windows and leaned out searching for its source. Definitely in the castle, he thought; near the Godswood. He understood and marveled. Eddard Stark was dead and the direwolves were howling.


	4. Flight

**Robb at the Crossing, Part IV**

_**Flight**_

_**Robb**_ woke with a start. Walda was entwined about him sleeping blissfully, still slick from their love making. As well as he could without moving he looked around the chamber. Grey Wind was stretched out before the hearth, the coals glowing dimly. He watched until certain the great wolf was breathing. Through the window the brightest stars still shown, though the sky had brightened. What was it? He felt something amiss. There was a muffled sound outside the door. Gently he shifted Walda off him. She mumbled something and then fell back into a deep slumber. He quietly stood up, pulled his tunic over his head and drew his sword from its scabbard. He stepped softly to the door and placed his ear against it; he heard breathing and a shifting of feet. He gripped his sword tightly and silently lifted the latch.

"Robb? Robb? Are you there?" It was Theon's voice.

He opened the door part way. Theon stood there in a robe, wearing only his small clothes underneath. "Robb, thought I'd find you here! Hope I'm not interrupting anything." He nudged Robb in the ribs.

"Damn you, Greyjoy; that hurt!" He tapped Theon on the jaw.

"Ouch! I took that cut for you, Stark."

"And you'd better have a good reason for waking me; I was ready to take someone's head off," Robb said hefting his sword.

"Well," began Theon, edging around Robb to get a glimpse inside the room, "your _grand_ or is it _great_ uncle kicked in my door and then asked most politely if I might know your whereabouts."

"He's just nuncle to me. Do you know what this is about?"

"Oh no, seems I am not privy to such matters. But I told him I had a good idea where to find you."

"So where is he?"

"In the small chamber."

"Get dressed and meet me there."

As Robb turned, Theon caught sight of Walda standing beside the bed wrapped in a blanket. He grinned.

_**Ser**_ Brynden sat on the edge of the table, head down. Robb thought he might be sleeping and knocked on the open door. He looked up. "You wait outside Greyjoy."

"No," Robb said, "I want Theon here. Whatever you have he needs to hear, too."

"As you will. There's been a raven. I thought it best not to wake your mother."

Robb took the slip of paper Brynden handed him.

He read, _This day at Baelor, King's Landing, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, The King's Hand, declared Joffrey Baratheon the true and rightful King, and then was executed for treason. _

Robb handed it to Theon. He then drew his sword raised it over his head and cleaved a chair in half.

Theon sunk into a chair beside Brynden. 'They killed him _after_ he bent the knee? Was this some joke of that little shit?"

"Ned must have known what was intended. He would only have done so for his daughters' sake. He was no craven. When he learned that the Mad King had killed his father and brother he chopped down a tree with his sword. It was a big tree. It took an hour. But it cleared his mind. Robb, we have more chairs."

Theon quickly stood up. Robb made a sound something between a snarl and a howl and resumed chopping. "So Theon Greyjoy, where did you find him?"

"Why would you care to know?"

"I had hoped he spent the night with that little she-wolf. He deserved one night of uncaring pleasure. Any after today will be burdened with hatred and sorrow."

"Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion!" CHOP, Robb's blade sang.

"She-wolf, that's what you call her?"

"I've heard the men. And wildling maid, spearwife, ear-cutter, dragon girl, and others less proper."

"She-wolf is good. With those eyes she could be Grey Wind's littermate."

"Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion!" CHOP, Robb's blade rang.

"Stay with him until he returns to himself. Tell him I will have the council waiting at 9 of the clock. So, was he?"

"He did not lack for pleasure this night."

_**Walda**_ followed the directions a guard had given her. She walked around the castle and up many flights of stairs. At the end of a long hallway was a heavy oaken door. She knocked; and knocked again. After some time she heard the bolt being removed from the other side. The door creaked open and an old man in gold trimmed brown robes studied her with rheumy eyes. "Yes, my lady?"

"Please excuse my intrusion. I am Walda of House Frey, daughter of Walton, granddaughter of Stevron."

"Yes, yes; I know who you are. What is it you want? High-born never visit here."

"Maester Vyman, I have an interest in ravens and would be grateful if I might see yours."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Yes, yes; please enter." He opened the door wide and motioned Walda in with an outstretched arm. "Ah, ravens, remarkable birds; please come this way. We must go to the loft." Inside was a large chamber with a ceiling of massive oak beams. There were shelves filled with books, tables covered with books, chairs piled with books, the floor itself was buried in books except for narrow corridors through which one must tread carefully lest the sides collapse. Walda could see where some such passages ended in jumbled heaps of books. They passed through an archway blessedly free of books, and then up a spiral stairway. As they ascended she could hear a racket of crucks, croaks and caws. The sounds increased steadily until the stairs ended on a small landing. Maester Vyman removed a key from under his robe and unlocked the door. "There, there my friends, you have a visitor this morning." There was a strong odor of ripe droppings. Large cages lined the walls each with a dozen or more black-winged ravens. Two birds were free in the loft. One swaggered across a table to investigate Walda.

"How many do you have in your flock, Maester?"

"Where is that boy? The cages must be cleaned and the birds fed. Oh, my lady, you asked something?"

"I asked how many …"

"92 this morning belonging to Riverrun; another 26 from other flocks. The siege has interfered with their return. Until yesterday those Lannister ruffians were shooting at any ravens near the castle. We lost several. A shame. Our guests will be on their way home shortly."

"And which might they be?"

"Just here in these two cages."

"Can you tell by looking to which flock they belong?"

"Ah, my lady Walda, can't you?"

"Perhaps, but it would take a while and there is little time."

He pointed to a particularly large and robust bird on a perch all his own. "One of Grand Maester Pycelle's birds. Notice how lustrous the feathers and the brilliance of the eyes. He was named Rhaegar when the prince lived. It is said he knows the names of six castles. He is the one you seek."

"You know much, Maester Vyman. Do you have any questions?"

"Only a warning. If you attempt this you will be taking a great risk."

"Then will you help me?"

"At the Citadel many years ago a young man, a crannogman, most unusual, studied as an acolyte. He worked especially well with the white ravens and would have had an excellent life as a raven maester. The archmaester set him an assignment to improve the training of the birds by the ancient way. It is said he learned how to enter their skins and fly as a raven. One bird he had a special affinity for. The archmaester found the young man seemingly asleep in the cote and the raven missing. He never wakened and quickly wasted away. Some say he became one with the bird and decided flying free was better than working for men."

"Maester Vyman, was this man in love?"

"We are a celibate order but love can come to any of us. This man I do not know."

"Perhaps he had no one to come back to."

"Ah, Lady Walda, your love needs you greatly. If he should lose you, too, I fear for him."

"He is blood of my blood. I will return."

"It may not be a matter of wanting to return. In warg lore it is said that if a creature should die while possessed the skinchanger may not wake."

"Good maester, there is risk every day. Flying with brave Rhaegar may be safer than hunting Lannisters." She placed a finger between the bars of the cage. The raven rubbed his beak against it and spoke, "Lannister! Lannister!"

"You have done this before?"

"Never." She quickly kissed his lips.

His back straightened and expression softened. "My, it is true. I shall do what I can, Lady Walda."

"Please bring me all …. a small, minute portion, the very distilled essence of what you have concerning King's Landing and the Red Keep. And I ask you to keep me safe whilst I dream."

"And how long might that be? There will be a search unless they believe all is well."

"A woman may always absent herself for reasons men care not to know. Leave me here with Rhaegar for an hour. I will return at sunset."

_**Ser**_ Brynden stood outside the council chamber speaking with Greatjon Umber and Rickard Karstark. He stopped when he saw Walda hurrying by. "My lady, a moment." The others turned and seeing her, both made grand bows. "My Lady." She responded with a graceful curtsy that brought smiles to the lords.

"Yes," Umber whispered to Karstark, "I saw it with my own eyes. The wolf chose her!"

"My lady. May we speak privately?"

"Certainly, Ser Brynden. How may I serve you?"

He escorted her by the arm into a quiet alcove. "You have heard?"

"Much has happened this day. Of what do you speak, good ser?"

"The council has named Lord Stark King in the North."

"That … that is a very old title. I'm not sure what it may mean in this age."

"It means Westeros is split and good King Joffrey rules a rump realm, for a short time."

"He'll likely shit his pants when he hears. I should like to see that."

"Hah! Quite so, the raven will depart today."

"Best if the message is sent by the same bird that came with news of Lord Eddard's death."

"A nice touch, that. I will so inform Maester Vyman."

"His name is Rhaegar … the bird that is."

"You know a bird's name but not that your Robb is now a king?"

"I learned in the Twins that there's always one Frey who does not get the word."

"Well said! I should tell your great-grandfather that next I visit him in the dungeons."

"He lives still? A pity."

"His fate waits on Lord Tully. My brother may not take his chair again, and Edmure has not yet found his feet. Chains have weakened him."

"I grieve for Lord Hoster, and more for Lady Catelyn. She came here to see her father before he passed, not to mourn her husband first."

"There is one thing that may ease her pain, a marriage."

"I do so enjoy weddings! We've had so many."

"We dance, my lady. Bluntly said you and Robb must marry and quickly."

"He'd be wiser to wed my young niece. She will inherit the Crossing."

"Legacies may mean little when this war ends. Robb needs a strong consort, now, and an heir."

"Kill Lannisters and have babies? You expect much of me, Ser Brynden. I should much prefer to complete the former before attempting the latter. If you mean lay with Robb I need no leave for that."

"Clearly now, you would be his Queen?"

"I would be his whore; I would die for him. We are closer now than you know. You must excuse me. I have an urgent errand. Good day, ser."

_**Lady**_ Catelyn sat quietly in her chamber, as stiff and rigid as the chair. She held a white kerchief in her hands. She twisted and untwisted it repeatedly. Her eyes were red but dry. Her lips would quiver and then she'd bite them.

"My Lady Catelyn, may I enter?"

She nodded without looking up or speaking.

"Yesterday after the battle you asked me if I knew anything of your husband and daughters. I … I am so sorry!" Walda sank to the floor before Catelyn and wept.

Catelyn looked at the young girl before her. She leaned forward, placed her hands on her head and raised her face. "Last night I woke to the sound of raven's wings. I feared, I hoped. And then I heard the wolves. Somehow I knew then but fought to deny it. When Robb came to me as the sun rose, he couldn't speak and did not have to. I read the raven's words on his face." She kissed her cheek and hugged her hard. It all broke then. Catelyn wailed and the tears poured from her eyes. "Ned, Oh, Ned!" She knelt on the floor and the two women embraced and cried together.

Time passed and the sobs subsided. Walda finally spoke. "A raven brought this sorrow. A raven may bring good news of Arya and Sansa. I can do this."

Catelyn wiped her eyes with the kerchief. "I believe I know your meaning. To risk your life to bring me some word of my girls? I cannot ask that of you. I forbid it!"

"I have been with Maester Vyman. The raven's name is _Rhaegar!_ He is magnificent. I do this for you and Robb, but know this: I would fly for myself alone!"

"My girl, who are you?"

"Why, Walda Frey, of course. It is only that Robb freed me, and now I live."

"You were with him last night. Thank you."

Walda smiled. "No secret that. And now you must explain to him that my time has come early, the flow is heavy and I need rest. Maester Vyman will care for me; you may visit. Tell my love that I will return to his arms in only a few days and not to feel guilty."

_**Rhaegar **_rested easily in Maester Vyman's grip. He cocked his head to the side as the Maester spoke soothingly to him. "Red Keep, Rhaegar; Red Keep."

The Maester placed the bird upon a perch before the open window. Rhaegar flapped his wings and twisted his head around to stare at the humans."Cruck! Red Keep, Red Keep, Cruck! Cruck!" The young woman was reclining on the couch. Her eyes were closed but Maester Vyman could see that they were moving rapidly beneath the lids. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic. She smiled. "Fly, Rhaegar! Fly Rhaegar!" he commanded. The raven hopped up, spread his wings wide and brought them down again in a swift thrust, feathers curved and extended to capture the greatest volume of air. Two more beats and he was soaring free above Riverrun. Walda laughed.

It was nearly midnight. Rheagar brought his wings in close to his body and dived, gaining velocity. The dimly lit courtyard below raced up to meet him. Suddenly he canted his tail feathers and his wings gave a powerful flap. He shot upward. At the apex of the climb, he flipped unto his back, stretched his head backward and dove again. He flattened out just above the rampart, completing the loop, and banked into a wide turn to the left. He flew on his back again searching for the familiar star patterns. But it was very cloudy and he could make no sense of what he glimpsed through the occasional, shifting holes. He had found Riverrun the night before by following the glistening surface of a river. He flipped over and searched below. There was water, yes, but multiple paths. Which one to follow? He flew now in a great circle around the castle sensing the subtle tug that meant north. It grew stronger, then gradually weaker. He turned and flew back until he found the tipping point. He stopped, flapping vigorously and hovered. He had flown with the tug on his right before, now he must fly with it on his left. He looked again and found the correct route. This was always his favorite moment of a flight, finding his bearings. To celebrate he did three quick barrel rolls and an outside loop. _Red Keep, Red Keep_, the voice repeated.

Rhaegar was not alone. He had known something was different about this flight from the moment the Riverrun man had commanded him. It was hardly the first time he'd flown with a companion. The Red Keep man would release him each year to fly free with the female. For a day and a night they would soar together, link talons and spin down nearly to the ground, kick themselves apart, roll and loop. Properly excited they would perch high in a tree and couple repeatedly until exhaustion. He would bring her nuts and berries, a fat squirrel. Then they would court again. What chicks they had he never knew. But she was there again each year, for life. The man named her Elia.

He could not see the Other. Rather he felt her under his feathers, inside his skin. Normally such a feeling would prompt him to preen and peck to rid himself of a louse, tick or speck of grit. But this feeling was not an irritant; rather it felt pleasant. The Other knew his name, and praised him, _brave Rhaegar, beautiful Rhaegar._ And there was a happiness, a joy that he never knew in the grim men who handled and directed him. It was how he felt with his mate.

In the fields beside the river the carrion smell was strong, more so than the previous night when he paused to investigate. The crows feasted. Vultures, buzzards and other scavengers had been drawn from far afield. There was plenty for all. He descended in a wide spiral. There was much activity at several locations. Not just birds but four footed creatures as well, bears, wolves, wild dogs and boars tore into the bodies of men. Sharp eyed, Rhaegar spied one corpse lying in a cranny, quietly ripening, almost untouched but for a few flies. He landed on its chest. The eyes were open. _No, Rhaegar, no! Red Keep, Red Keep! _The Other was not like Elia; she would have relished such a treat. Reluctantly, he took flight.

"_**Mother,"**_ Robb implored, "I must see her before we march. I will worry about her constantly!"

"Like all young women, and many not so young, she is vain about her appearance. She insists that you not see her in her time. To me she is more beautiful than ever. There is some bloat, a small facial blemish or two; a might windy, to be sure. There are leaks and rising gorge. And of course there is a bit of blood, and the odor that accompanies it. Otherwise she is radiant. But she would have you remember her as when last you parted."

Robb smiled at that memory. She had been warm and fragrant of love. But then, "Mother, you don't think … I may have done something in my ignorance that precipitated this sudden affliction?"

"Certainly not! She even asked me to tell you not to feel the least guilty. When you return she will be rested and eager for your embrace. She will be well cared for by Maester Vyman, and I will be with her as much as I may."

"So be it, then. Ser Brynden will remain here with a strong force to keep my ladies safe."

"Robb, is that prudent? He is your finest captain of horse. Better to have him at your side when you meet Tywin."

"Well, we do differ on small matters of tactics. But the Kingslayer is still at liberty. He might yet pull some men together and create a threat. Brynden is the best man to trap him. Besides I think he is smitten with Walda. Greatjon told me he overheard them laughing together over some jape."

"He is also insistent that you wed for the good of the realm."

"Aye, the _realm_. That will take some getting used to. If Walda will have me, nothing would please me more. I long to take her to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon will love her. Sansa and especially Arya would too… _Seven Hells!_ There will be no time for celebrations while Joffrey lives!"

"Robb, she asked me to give this to you. Keep it close." She handed him a small purse of blue leather with a silver chain.

He took it from her gently and opened it with care. Inside was a lock of golden hair.

"She also asked me to tell you it was washed."

_**Walda**_ found the steady wing beat and cool night air soothing. She felt herself drifting. For a time she thought of other things, of Robb's strong hands and his flaming lust she had ecstatically quenched in her body. She was brought back to the moment with a start. She sensed it, approaching fast, ice cold and deadly. _Rhaegar, danger!_ The raven responded instinctively, with a snap roll to the right, and an inverted, vertical dive, with a reverse turn. The huge pale shape passed through the point he had occupied an instant before. Its frigid draft sent Rhaegar spinning. He pulled out and glanced up. The creature was already turning, ready for another pass. The skies had cleared and the moonlight briefly silhouetted an enormous eagle. It screeched and dove to kill. Its eyes glowed an intense blue. The raven swooped down, then a steep climb into a barrel roll and another dive, all the time jinking left and right. The eagle missed again, this time by a feather's breadth. Rhaegar's beak darted out and wrenched a primary from a passing wing. This swung him around and suddenly he was on the eagle's tail. Hanging on with his talons, Rhaegar attacked with his beak, ripping out feathers, but drawing no blood. The eagle rolled over and violently brought a wing around batting Rhaegar away. The raven tumbled down struggling to regain control. He had fallen half-way to the forest below before his wings could bite into the rushing air. The eagle hurtled after him talons extended. The battle had run much too fast for Walda to be of any help. But suddenly she understood. _The eyes, the eyes!_ Rhaegar dove for the trees, wings tucked in; the eagle a few lengths behind. Then, almost imperceptively the raven slowed. He could feel the eagle's icy breath. Its talons were reaching. Rhaegar brought his wings forward and braked, somersaulting up and over the eagle's head. His talons locked onto its neck. He drove his beak into the eagle's left eye. But there was no pop, no spurt of fluid. The eye was hard and crystalline. He drove his beak in farther and twisted sharply. There was a crack and the eye shattered into a thousand icy splinters. The screech of pain filled the night. _Awake, awake!_ The trees below fluttered as myriad black eyes looked up. The eagle contorted and with a huge talon reached back and tore Rhaegar from its neck; and brought him around to bite off his head. The two birds had fallen to treetop level when the forest canopy erupted and they were enveloped in a cloud of furious ravens. The eagle had to protect its remaining eye and needed both talons. It dropped the prey and fought its way out of the angry flock. Nearly frozen Rhaegar landed on a tangle of branches and looked up. The great bird was sprinting from the swarm of harassing ravens.

Walda's body lay in a warm room, a blanket pulled up around her chin; still she shivered uncontrollably. She reached out with her mind and met a wall of cold hate: _Winter is coming, wolf bitch. _

_**Rhaegar**_ rested until dawn and then climbed to an upper branch, spread his wings wide and faced the sun, basking in its warmth. _Red Keep, Red Keep._ He jumped into the sky and found the river. From here he knew to follow the flow and for a time keep the sun to his front. Soon he would come to the tall stone bower men had fashioned where the path along the river and the one from the north met. There he would turn in the direction of the sun at midday and follow the path to the great roost of men, where at its highest point the Red Keep stood guard.

The Other was still with him, but quieter now and troubled. He climbed swiftly to a great height, folded his wings and let his momentum carry him a little higher. For a moment he hung in the air, no sound but the whisper of a breeze. Then he nosed over into a spiraling dive, rolling and spinning, faster and faster. "Cruck! Cruck! Wal-da, Wal-da!" he called. In a distant chamber she wept tears of joy. _My dear, dear Rhaegar._


	5. Blood for Blood

**Robb at the Crossing, Part V**

_**Blood for Blood**_

_**Nymeria, **_the name seemed to float on the night air, the merest wisp of a stray thought. Through Rhaegar's eyes Walda searched the ground below. There were many camp fires along the kingsroad. Thousands were fleeing the fighting in the north. Did the dreamer mean a long dead queen or much less likely a young girl's wolf? She urged the raven to fly lower and circle back a distance. Straining, she listened for the name to repeat or perhaps a different word that might confirm an identity. There were many dreamers below and their imaginings were a constant chatter of the mundane, fantastic and horrific. A warg's dreams she now realized were stronger and easier to distinguish. Hers had nearly killed them. Robb was not dreaming, she knew. If Arya were dreaming somewhere along the kingsroad she might be found.

Rhaegar glanced up. He did so frequently since the skies had cleared, confirming his heading from the patterns of stars. Man-paths like those of other animals would meander; turn to avoid obstacles, switchback, vanish under the forest canopy, and often dead-end. The stars he could rely on; they're steady unvarying pace, wide range of magnitudes and colors, their immutable relationships were satisfying in a way he did not understand but welcomed. There were of course the moon and the several smaller wanderers. But they had their own predictable patterns he could study and learn. Thus, the apparition of the great red hairy star with the single diaphanous tail was disturbing. It had come from nowhere and now dominated the sky from dusk to dawn. It moved in its own manner, crossing the star patterns without any regard. It was now even visible for a time after sunrise. Had it anything to do with the eagle's attack? That had never happened before either. The raven weaved back and forth along the road, but the dreamers below betrayed no thoughts of Winterfell or its people. There was mail to deliver. _Red Keep, Red Keep. _

_**Walder **_woke slowly, half in dream. There was the drip. His cell was never completely quiet for it. A younger man may have found it maddening, but Walder endured so many annoyances from his numerous infirmities it hardly registered. Still it continued to drip, there in the cell, to remind him he had not somehow during the night returned to his warm, dry chambers in the Twins. He couldn't see his cell; the gaoler had not lit the torches. It must have been overcast for usually some glow came from the grating above. The Tullys sought to break him before his trial. Half-dead Hoster, that righteous prig Brynden, sniveling Edmure, and that lying whore Catelyn; they wanted him to crawl and beg. Not Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing!

There had been good news; even in a dungeon word gets through. The Kingslayer had escaped. Too bad he hadn't killed Stevron first. But the Lannisters would be back and they would appreciate a friend at the Crossing. And now better still, Ned Stark dead. His head doubtless rotting on a pike. The image cheered him. Swallow that, _Lady_ Catelyn. Heh!

Yes, little Cat. He remembered her years ago. Had Hoster agreed he would have tasted that sweet baby cunt. Or that sister of hers, Lyanna, or Lysa or something. But a Frey wasn't good enough for a Tully match. Someday he'd teach them.

He liked them young, very young. When a wife grew too old he'd look around the Twins. Never a daughter, a half-blood; that was too much like those mad, inbred Targaryans, or if rumor be true some Lannisters he knew. But a granddaughter or better still a great-granddaughter was no different than bedding a cousin. Some needed persuasion until they learned the lesson of his belt. As he grew older he did require assistance, and the young Walders were eager to help. When he was finished they were welcome to the leftovers. Never a sister, though. He believed the girls had kept him alive all these years. When they made his cock grow hard he believed. Sometimes the thought alone was enough. But he felt nothing now.

He shifted on the foul straw pallet they'd given him. A dull ache ran up his belly. He reached down to rub it. There was pressure but no feeling in his fingers or body. He must have been sleeping wrong and gone numb. This sometimes happened. He'd stretch, and rub some more until his blood began to flow. He'd just finished training his new wife this necessary duty, when Catelyn tricked him.

He heard voices in the other cells. Surely it was morning now. Where was the gaoler with his lamp? He tried to sit up, but he felt faint and fell back. Damn! And now his head began to hurt. He rubbed his forehead. There was some sense returning to his fingers; his face felt wet and sticky. There was a fog in his mind. He realized what it was, milk of the poppy. They must have put it in his wine or his food, or both last night. They were going to kill him today; that must be it. And that King in the Clouds, the Stark get wanted him to go quietly. No, not Walder Frey; he would teach them. "Gaoler, bring me a lamp! A lamp! Now!"

"What? Is that you shouting, Late Lord Frey? You old fool, you have a lamp! Open your eyes!"

His feeling was returning quickly now. There was pain everywhere. He had to piss. He sat up moaning. He reached for his cock. He felt raw meat and began to scream.

The gaoler and a guard entered the cell. He held his lamp up close to Walder's twisted, bloody face. "Here's your problem, no eyes."

"Could be our problem, too," said the guard. "His lordship won't appreciate having his guests butchered, even the likes of this one."

"The night guard will answer for it. Go find Maester Vyman. He will have something to shut him up." Turning to leave he noticed something on the small table beside the sleeping pallet. He stepped closer and felt his gorge rise. The organs were arranged in an obscene caricature. They dripped blood on the floor.

_**Maester**_ _**Vyman**_ sat in the solar between Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the guard and Ser Desmond Grell, master-at-arms. He spoke to Ser Edmure seated opposite. "His wounds are not in themselves fatal. I have cleaned and bound them. He rests now, sotted with dreamwine."

"But?"

"For Walder Frey virility is vitality. He has lived as long as he has only because he can still sire children, or so he believes. Blindness he could accept. But bereft of his manhood, he has no will to live."

Edmure clutched his crotch. "A view many men would share. How do you manage it, Vyman?"

"With discretion, at first. And now boredom. Although I must admit I felt something stir after a recent kiss."

"Probably your bowels. But you pique my curiosity. Who was she?"

"I may have my little confidences, my lord?"

"Maege Mormont, for a certainty. Ser Robin, was there nothing from the night guard?"

He shifted in his seat. "I had them all called in, and questioned separately. They all tell the same story. They heard and saw nothing."

"We're speaking of the dungeons, are we not? Moans, clanking chains, scurrying rats; I would expect that to keep them awake. And the prisoners, what did they have to say? The ones who still have their tongues."

"They are understandably preoccupied with their own prospects, but none mention anything unusual before Walder began crying for a lamp."

"What use is a dungeon if I can't keep my prisoners in one piece until their executions? Ser Desmond, pray, tell me something useful."

"My lord, whoever did this could have killed Walder much easier and quicker. This was vengeance. Before the battle another Walder was torn apart by dogs. Or so Ser Stevron said."

"A Frey affair, then? But all the men from the Twins who may have had some reason to hate Walders left yesterday with Robb Stark's host. And how in the name of the Seven was it done?"

Maester Vyman spoke, "He must have fed Walder enough milk of the poppy to nearly kill him. Nearly. And his cuts were skillful, lest Walder bleed to death. He knew his craft."

"You describe a maester," said Ser Desmond.

"I did tend to Walder yesterday. He complained of his gout. When I left him he was arrogant, profane, and insulting. That is to say, normal."

"Vyman, might my lord father be aware long enough to judge and sentence Walder? I would have done with this matter."

"It may be so. But it is customary for the accuser to be present during the trial and Ser Brynden is far ranging in pursuit of the Kingslayer."

"My sister will do as well. And I have heard all the evidence, it will be sufficient."

_**Grand Maester Pycelle**_ sat at his table in the raven loft. Occasionally he'd reach into a large bowl of nuts, remove one, inspect it for imperfections, and if suitable for consumption crack it open with a silver hammer. He was reading and re-reading the evening's messages. Raven's from Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime in the field, Storm's End, Highgarden, and the Crossing perched in their cages. This was the challenging part. How much did the writers know and when did they know it? No one yet had acknowledged Lord Stark's death. Renly had made his claim for the Iron Throne. The Tyrells supported him. Riverrun remained besieged and the Northern army was thrown back on the Green Fork. Lord Walder's message was the interesting one. The Freys had joined with Robb Stark who had crossed the river and was on the march to … where? So whom had Tywin defeated? Varys would puzzle that one. He was thirsty. He stood up and took two steps toward the door when the bell attached to the raven perch rang. Turning he immediately recognized the bird. "Rhaegar, back so soon? I feared you might have had problems passing over Ser Jaime's lines. Come here; let's see what news you carry." The raven hopped over and landed on the table. "Cr-r-uck, Cruck, Red Keep!" The feathers on his head and shoulders rose up.

"What's this, my friend? White feathers? Were you injured?" He gently lifted the bird and examined him. "No pain?" There was a pattern to the discolorations, arcs of large radii. He took a tape from his cabinet and measured the dimensions. "You were very lucky, my friend. Summer appears to be ending." He looked again, under the feathers. There were scratches on the bird's skin were talons had penetrated. The pin feathers were growing in white. He held the bird up in his hands. "Ah, Rhaegar will you leave me for the Citadel? Or would you rather remain here?" "Cr-r-uck, Cruck, Citadel, Citadel." The man smiled, "My Rhaegar is ambitious. So what have the Tullys sent?" He removed the tin capsule banded to the raven's leg, and took the roll of parchment from inside. He set Rhaegar on the table and read the message aloud,

_This day at Riverrun, in Great Council, the lords of the Riverlands and the North proclaimed Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the true and rightful King in the North. Blood for blood. _

"This one will not wait till morning." There was a flapping of wings. He looked up in time to see the raven fly away. "Rheagar! Red Keep, Red Keep!"

_**Catelyn **_sat beside the couch looking down upon the dreaming girl. She had not seen Walda eat or drink in two days. But Maester Vyman had left water, wine and fruit each night at her bedside. In the morning some of each was gone. But she needed washing. Gently she removed Walda's blouse and began wiping her neck and breasts with a soft damp cloth. There was a mixture of sweet smelling oil and flesh-colored powder covering much of her body. She began to wipe it off and stopped. There were long ragged scabby scratches, black and yellow bruising, bite marks around her nipples; some were enflamed and oozing. She looked closely at her throat. Faint but unmistakable were the imprints of large fingers. She removed the girl's small clothes and found blood. After drawing a blanket around her, she left for a few minutes. When Catelyn returned she carried a large pot of hot water, soap and towels. Maester Vyman came shortly after with soothing unguents and lotions. There came a knock on the door. Catelyn opened it a crack and found neatly folded on a chair clean clothing. For an hour they did their best to repair the damage. Through it all Walda never wakened. She would murmur, smile, grimace, and sigh.

Catelyn marveled at the tender care with which the old Maester ministered. She remembered the many times he had nursed her growing up in Riverrun. Had he once a child of his own? Had he ever loved? "Do you find her beautiful?" She gestured to the naked girl now clean and bandaged.

"Exceedingly so. She will make Robb very happy. I believe she already has."

"Her breasts are full, hips well formed; she will have easy births. Would it be out of place to make your examination?" She placed a hand softly on her belly.

"Without her consent I could not. Clearly she is no virgin; and I can see no cause for concern in her injuries. But what do you make of them? By whom?"

"Not Robb! I know the ways of love. I know my son."

"Those wounds were not from their night. There are old scars, healed. She has been beaten many times." Gently he rolled her onto her side. " Here and here," he said indicating places on her back. "My guess these were made with a belt or whip. And she has been burned on belly and buttocks."

"Then he is no more; torn apart by dogs. If she warged the beasts she had good cause."

"There was another monster in the Twins. They all feared him. When you were but a girl there was a proposal that you be married to the Crossing. You knew this?"

"No one mentioned it to me. Lysa and I would joke at the matches the Freys made. But one of us? We would have thought father mad. Which one was to be mine?"

"Walder. He was between brides at the time. Lord Hoster was not mad."

"Thank the Gods, for Robb's choice! I felt hurt and insulted when he broke my word. But it was nothing to that creature. Walder is no man worthy of it. Let him bleed and rot in the dungeons."

Walda suddenly went rigid and shivered.

Catelyn pulled the blanket back over her and kissed her forehead. "Where is she, Maester Vyman?"

"Rhaegar is strong of wing; I would wager they have arrived."

"If I could only see through Rhaegar's eyes! Sansa, Arya!"

"My lady, she has entered a lion's den, and I make no jape. Walda will use Rhaegar to watch and listen; but ..."

"Yes?"

"She will warg into others, to better accomplish her purpose. She is in great peril."

"Does not a skinchanger survive the deaths of those she possesses? True death comes only with the end of her own body. We keep her safe."

"All of warg lore comes from a few ancient tomes and legends. I had doubted that any of it was true. Yet in the last few days I have witnessed more than I could imagine. Walda is self-taught. She learns as she dares. She possesses human bodies because she can. Her skill is growing and I can see no limit. Still I fear that even a greenseer may not escape death if the person she inhabits should die."

"I saw her kill six men. She may have the better of it."

"She was not fighting Kingsguard. She means to kill Lannisters."

_**Rhaegar**_ circled the Red Keep on the night air, catching snatches of conversation from guards, servants, lords and ladies. And dreams. Walda could sense a jumble of fear and longing. She knew to look in Maegor's Holdfast; that's where the girls would be. And the King.

The raven landed on a sill and hopped into a dark chamber though the half opened shutters. The bed curtains were drawn. He moved a corner aside with his beak. A figure lay wrapped in blankets, sobbing. It shifted and rolled, and finally lay still. She dreamed. Again and again a great sword swung, each time bone shattered, flesh rent; impossibly the face of the man she loved fell from his shoulders in a gush of blood, his legs jerked. It all made no sense. Her sweet prince promised! They all promised! He smiled; his mouth opened wide revealing a dragon's tongue and yellow fangs. He laughed and laughed! _Sansa, my dear, dear Sansa. _

That night the raven roosted in the massive heart tree of the Godswood.

_**Joffrey**_ enjoyed his walk down the Great Hall to the Iron Throne. He had everyone's attention. They knew on the slightest whim he could either enrich or end their lives. He had already proved that and would do so again today. He hadn't decided just how yet. It would come to him presently.

The Hound preceded the King by ten paces, glancing grimly from side to side, occasionally staring at some courtier, litigant or petioner who'd quickly look away. He gripped and ungripped his sword hilt repeatedly as he marched along. It calmed him and made others nervous. He took his place below and to the throne's left and knelt along with the entire hall when Joffrey sat. When the audience began he concentrated on faces, expressions, looks. With no predictable pattern his eyes would dart around the hall, seeking unguarded moments. He listened, too, not to words so much as any emotion they might betray; and for the familiar sound of metal sliding on metal, the clink of armor, the strain of bow and string. But what he noticed was the flutter of wings amid the heavy timbers which supported the ceiling. The hall was open on warm days and the stray bird would occasionally enter. These were supposed to be chased out before court. Joffrey would not be pleased. He detested any competition.

The audience proceeded uneventfully, with little of Joffrey's wonted cruelty. A few of his decisions were actually fair and reasonable, drawing murmured assents from the hall and nods from the members of the small council. His mother had told him to be more judicious and he was waiting for the appropriate moment. It came when a frightened Tyroshi merchant was brought before the King. He was accused of short-weighing flour for the royal bakery. The King barely heard the steward's testimony and the merchant's protestations of innocence. It was the old man's beard that commanded his attention. It was snow white, forked, and extended to his waist.

"This case sorely tries my judgment. It rests on the words of these two men. One lies, but who? An appeal to the gods is necessary. Dog, bring me my crossbow."

The steward and the merchant suddenly turned pale. "You there, Tyrosh!"

"Yes, your grace?"

"Does your beard touch the floor when you squat?"

"Squat, your grace?"

"On the pot, fool; when you shit!"

"I … I hold it up, your grace."

Joffrey selected a large apple from the bowl beside the throne. "Ser Meryn, tie this to the end of the old fool's beard."

Meryn took the apple, deftly cored it with his dirk, threaded the two ends of the merchant's beard through the hole, and knotted them.

"Right then; now squat!"

The old man awkwardly bent down; the apple bumping the floor, his robes covering his feet.

"You soil your robe when you shit? Raise it up!"

"Yes, your grace." He struggled to comply, revealing his spindly legs and drawers.

"Now," Joffrey took the drawn crossbow from the Hound and placed a bolt in the slot, "the Seven will guide my shot into the apple if you speak true; otherwise it will strike somewhere else. Hold steady there, the gods can't account for your twitching. Keep the apple on the floor!"

The flour merchant was shaking. The hall emptied behind him, everyone pressing back against the walls. Joffrey aimed. The merchant broke wind. Ser Meryn laughed first then the other guards and the hall erupted. Joffrey shot, the bolt struck just in front of the apple and then skittered across the floor.

"I'll give you that one." Grinning, Joffrey handed the crossbow to the Hound. He quickly drew it and handed it back.

"Now, fool, this one counts." He loaded the bolt, aimed and loosed. It hit the apple square on, continued on between the merchant's legs and nearly to the doors. There was more laughter; the merchant had soiled himself. He could hold his position no longer and collapsed onto the floor.

Joffrey glanced around the hall and was satisfied with the reaction. "Stand him up."

Two guards grabbed the man by his arms and hauled him upright. "What have you to say for yourself?!"

"Your grace, have not the Seven shown me true?"

Joffrey pointed to the man's feet. "But you soiled the floor. Clean it." The stewards of the Great Hall were already waiting with mops and buckets. This wasn't the first court with a mess to clean. The merchant began to move toward the stewards when he was brought up short by the guards. "With your beard."

"Your grace," he said in a weak voice. He knelt and scrubbed.

Joffrey laughed longer than most of those present. Finally, sensing the hall losing interest he ordered both men taken to the dungeons. He returned to the throne and gestured for the next case.

The Hound glanced upward to the ceiling. There was movement. He saw it falling. Many others did, too. It landed on Joffrey's head with a load squish. There was a collective gasp. The dropping was unusually large and wet. It covered his face. Joffrey sat their stunned for a moment. Then he stood up and shouted, "Mother!"

A raven dived into the hall, made a quick turn and was out an open window before the guards could react. The walls echoed with its call, _WINTERFELL! WINTERFELL!_

_**Cersei **_swayed when she stood, and steadied herself with a hand on a side table. On it was the half empty bottle of dream wine she had been sipping. She picked it up and a smaller bottle beside it. She looked down at Lancel asleep on her bed. He had been eager, but she made him take the time to pleasure her first. Now his breathing was barely visible. She kissed him and tousled his hair. Tommen's room was only a few steps from her chamber's door. She nodded to the nurse seated outside working on her knitting. Her son was dozing when she entered; his cat curled up on his chest. She shooed the animal away, sat on the bed and took Tommen in her arms.

"Mummy," he looked up at her with sleepy eyes, "can we play?"

"No, no, my darling. Tomorrow will be a big day. You must sleep now. Now take this; it will help you rest."

Tommen drank from the cup his mother held for him. She tipped it towards him so he swallowed every drop. "That tastes good!"

"Now in you go. Sleepy, sleepy. Nighty night, until tomorrow." She pulled the blanket up to his chin and kissed him on both cheeks. "My little prince I always …" But he was already asleep. She looked down on him and stroked his white blonde curls. She wiped away a tear.

_**Myrcella**_ sat at her table reading a colorfully illustrated book about lords and ladies. The door opened and her beautiful mother entered. "My dove, it is very late. Come along, into bed."

"Mother, when can I see Sansa again? The other girls are no fun. She knows all the stories. And she's so pretty."

"She has been ill; nothing serious. I'll have your brother visit her tomorrow. If she feels better she can come play with you."

"Mother, if Joffrey gets to marry Sansa why can't I marry her brother? He's so handsome, just like this picture." She held up the book so Cersei could see. It did somewhat resemble the boy with his dark good looks.

"What a horrid thought! Never let Joffrey hear you speak so. Robb Stark is a traitor just like his father. And he would have sent us all into exile. Besides it is said Robb can change himself into a savage wolf. I fine husband that would make. When your time comes you shall have the sweetest, bravest, most handsome knight in Westeros! And he'll never growl or howl."

Myrcella giggled. _"Aaahoo!"_

"Enough of that, my princess, you'll wake the whole keep. Now, hop, hop, hop into bed like a little bunny."

"Aaahoo," the little girl whispered, smiling.

"Oh, I heard that. I can tell you'll never get to sleep." She stirred together some dreamwine with a measure from the smaller bottle. "Now drink this. You'll be dreaming happily in no time at all."

"An excellent vintage that. Some more my lady!"

"All grown up, now? Grand Maester Pycelle was very precise; no more for you."

But she was already asleep. Cersei sat on the bed and ran her fingers through the girl's silky hair.

"There was so much more I needed to say." She took her daughter in her arms and rocked her. The tears fell unhindered.

_**Joffrey **_paced around his solar swinging his sword back and forth, lopping off countless imaginary heads. A bell rang, a moment later Ser Boros appeared at the curtain. "Your Grace, the Queen would speak with you."

"Yes, yes; send her in."

Cersei entered the room. "I thought I'd find you awake. But tomorrow you will hold court again and all must see you calm and in complete control. You must put all this behind you and get a good night's sleep."

"I placed a bounty on that hell-sent bird. My dog will bring me word when it is captured. It will have a public trial and execution after torture, of course. Plucked and roasted. I'll have its head nailed onto stupid Ned's. They can stare at each other."

"Do you realize how ridiculous that will make you look! It was just a bird; they shit! Wear your helmet tomorrow and everyone will understand the joke. They will laugh with you, not at you. Your father and I differed on many things but he knew how to turn such events to his credit. Think like a king not a schoolboy."

"Yes, he had Sansa's wolf killed. That was your idea. Very funny! Put Stark in his place. That's the lesson I learned."

"And who will know or care about some talking raven? You heard what Pycelle said, it was all Maester Luwin's doing. Put a bounty on his head if you must."

"Oh, I will. But I want that bird skewered."

"You will think differently in the morning. I would like you to visit Sansa. She is hiding in her room and refuses to eat or dress. She needs to be seen at court. We must appear to be conducting ourselves normally in all things."

"I will slap some sense into her."

"No! It is not seemly for the king to raise his hand to a woman, especially his betrothed. Remember when the Stark brothers are dead she will give you Winterfell, and all its ravens."

"Grandfather will take it with his army."

"The Targaryens took Westeros with their dragons; they held it through alliances of marriage. The houses of the North are naturally rebellious. Give them a reason to follow you, as the rightful Lord of Winterfell."

"I hate that cold miserable place. If a Lannister must go there I'll send Tyrion. He can freeze his ass."

"The king must be seen throughout the realm. It is possible to travel comfortably and enjoy the hospitality of your vassals. But in war you'll lead where you must and suffer when necessary with your men."

"I'll stay in the south. Uncle Jaime and Grandfather can lead the armies."

"Joffrey you must make your own glory. A king who relies o'ermuch on others will be counted weak and court disloyalty."

"I never saw father go to war. All he did was drink and whore."

"And would still be king if he hadn't."

"Mother, a boar killed him. What's that you've brought?"

"A special draft which will help you sleep. It tastes quite good, they say."

"You haven't tried it?"

"I'm not ready to sleep yet. I have to see everyone else to bed first. Tommen and Myrcella are sleeping soundly."

He yawned. "My dog is taking too long." He walked into his bedchamber. Cersei followed.

_**Grand Maester Pycelle **_prepared the cage carefully. Ravens were clever birds and no simple trap would serve. The bait must be irresistible and the mechanism fool-proof. A bird landing on the perch inside the cage would trigger a heavy spring slamming the door shut and engaging a bolt. A strong man with a pry bar might force it open but certainly no raven. When he locked the door behind him he was confident that next the bell rang he'd have his rogue bird back.

He meant Rhaegar no harm; rather, he was saving him from the death King Joffrey had decreed. Not since the days of dragons had beasts been subject to such royal opprobrium. The reward offered had brought the predictable result. Already dozens of birds of every species had been presented, killed with arrows, stones, sticks and bare hands. Some fool had even brought in a chicken painted black. Pycelle protested that valuable ravens bearing messages from throughout the realm would be lost. That the bird which had attacked the king had long since departed for Winterfell, obviously its home. It was all Maester Luwin's evil work. But Joffrey would have none of it. No man or beast could mock the King and live.

The raven waited patiently in a shadowed crenel high in the tower, listening. He heard the Red Keep man leave the room; still he waited. There was the scent, familiar and enticing. Silently he dropped from his hiding place and flew past the open window. He could see nothing unusual; only by entering might he see the source. The Other urged caution but he was drawn. He swooped around and passed through the window avoiding any contact with the frame and sill. Hovering in the center of the room he immediately noticed a large object covered with a black drape on the table. He flew around it and realized the scent came from inside. Flying close he grabbed a corner in his beak and quickly lifted the drape up towards the ceiling. It came loose and he dropped it on the floor. Revealed was a heavy barred caged, the door held open by some device under tension. The cage was occupied.

Rhaegar didn't need Wal-da to warn him of the danger; he could recognize a trap. The bait bird was bound to the perch with a leather truss. All its flapping could hardly lift it. He watched and noticed that the perch did shift slightly up when the bird tried to fly. The perch was mounted rigidly to the floor of the cage. Through the bars on the side he could see that the floor rested a short distance above a second surface, the base of the cage. Between the two levels was a small device; he did not attempt to understand its operation but its function was clear. Adding weight to the upper level would trip the mechanism below and cause the cage door to spring shut. He flew around the room searching for objects which might by their appearance create a plan. There was a narrow straight stick, what the Red Keep man used to wave around to no purpose and sometimes scratch his back. He picked it up in his beak and carried it back to the cage. And there was a bowl filled with nuts. He ferried the contents to the cage and pushed them into the space between the two levels. With the stick he wedged the nuts in tightly. Gripping the exposed edge of the upper level in his beak he tried to move it down. There was a slight movement. He stuffed in more nuts and tried again. This time he could not make the cage floor budge. Rhaegar flew inside the cage and landed gingerly on the perch. The door stayed open. For a short time he warbled softly and nuzzled the other bird with his beak. She did the same to him. He looked at her leg where a tether bound her to the perch. It was a noose knot which only grew tighter when pulled. The other end of the tether was looped securely to the perch's mount. At first he tried pecking the knot loose with his beak with little effect. Then he tried with the stick but it was too wide to slip between the coils. He left the cage and flew around the room again searching for ideas. He saw something softly reflecting the lamp light. It was on a shelf partly covered by scraps of parchment. The Red Keep man would use it to cut pieces from a large sheet for messages. It was sharp; once the man had sliced a finger on it drawing blood. Rhaegar lifted it with his talons; it was about half his body length. He returned with it to the cage. The hilt he rested on the cage floor and leaned the pointy end onto the perch. With coos and cruks he directed the female to hop over the blade so that the truss lay across it. With more urging he had her step off the perch and hang inverted from the tethered leg. This brought the truss hard up against the blade. Holding the dagger firmly in place with his talon he rocked the female back and forth with his head. She cawed sweetly. The edge of the blade slowly cut into the leather. The plan was working; if only they had enough time. There was a disturbance in the neighboring chamber where the ravens were caged. Their crucks and croaks told him a man was near. Faster he swung her and she used her wings to advantage. He heard voices next store; a metallic scratching at the key hole. The birds shoved hard in one fierce effort. The female came loose and thumped to the cage floor. Rhaegar pushed her quickly out of the cage; he followed still holding the dagger in his talons. _Cr-r-uck, Cruk_, they both called and vanished out the window. A man entered the room and drew his sword.

_**The Hound **_nodded to Ser Boros and Ser Meryn standing guard at the door to the King's chambers. "Any visitors tonight?"

"Only the Queen," replied Meryn. "She does not wish to be disturbed."

"And how long has her grace been with the King?"

"Curious, tonight, Hound? What say you, Boros?"

"No more than an hour. The King was somewhat out of sorts. Some whispered that the raven was the spirit of Ned Stark."

"Ghosts now, is it? Then he will be relieved to hear what news I bring."

"Or was it rather the wraith of that butcher's boy? I thought you killed him truly, so he'd never trouble the King again. But perhaps you pitied him." Meryn smiled.

"Enough," he made to open the door.

"The Queen …"

"They do not expect courtesies from their dog. I will be brief and vouch for your vigilance."

"Let him go, Boros; it will be enough to see him scurry back with his tail between his legs."

He opened the door and stepped into the alcove. A silk curtain screened it from the solar. Inside lamps burned dimly. It was deserted. The door to the bedchamber was across the room. Half-way there he caught the metallic scent of fresh blood. He silently drew his sword and approached the door. It was slightly ajar. The smell was stronger. The bedchamber was cloaked in shadows, only one small lamp glowed. There was a figure seated beside the bed, unmoving, silent. His eyes darted about the room. All but one window was closed and barred; it was narrowly open. The door to the privy was shut. "King Joffrey, Queen Cersei," he spoke the names softly. He approached the chair. His eyes adjusted to the gloom. He recognized the Queen's profile, her hair falling to her shoulders. Her eyes were closed; mouth half open. There was a dribble of pale foam. She was holding something in her lap. He looked over to the bed and at the gaping wound. No clean cut this; it had been worked and worried by a small blade. The wet bedclothes glistened. He walked carefully around the room, checking the windows, the privy, chests and dressers, every conceivable hiding place. He knew this to be pointless. The Red Keep was riddled with secret passageways and hidden doors. And he knew no one else had been with the King this night. The wound was the work of no assassin but of one who had never done more than carve a roast. Cersei's arms were covered in blood up to the elbows. Her right hand still held a small bottle. The fingers of her left hand clutched Joffrey's hair.

He closed the door behind him and stepped into the light. "The King rests. The Queen had given him some dreamwine. She will stay with him tonight. And she did not appreciate being disturbed."

"So, what was the story of the bird?" asked Boros.

"His name is Rhaegar." He turned and walked calmly away. Once out of sight of the others he hurried towards the Stark girl's chamber.

_**Petyr**_ Baelish master of coin, and the eunuch Varys, the master of whispers sat across from each other in the small council chamber. They were alone. A bottle of fine Arbor gold rested half empty on the table between them. The wine in their glasses would faintly ripple every few moments as all seven bells of the Great Sept rang out across King's Landing. They would continue to do so for a day and a night.

"Food poisoning."

"Just enough truth to convince the credulous."

"They all dined together. The baker was Tyroshi. The comet was never brighter. Everyone noted it."

"All true in isolation."

" There have already been disturbances in the quarter, riots and fires. Slynt has increased the patrols and made arrests."

"And all from just a single well placed hint."

"In truth, two. Still it is remarkable how quickly the rumor spread."

"Tinder embraces a spark. Now, the message to the realm was admirably vague. Nothing confirmed other than the deaths. Tywin will blame the Starks. Renly will suspect Stannis. Stannis will thank providence. Daenerys, if she still lives, will regret only five died."

"And the Starks?"

"'Blood for blood' wasn't it? A less skeptical mind might conclude that the assassin traveled by the selfsame raven so soon did the words themselves incarnadine."

"Ah, the raven. Boros and Meryn were questioned separately; both claim the Hound brought Joffrey word of its capture or rather some news which would please him. And on departing he called it 'Rhaegar'. The steward of the ravenry knew this bird well. Pycelle had sent it to Riverrun with word of Stark's execution. He has not seen it since."

"It is far by land from Riverrun, and the lands between are riven by turmoil."

" I have you there, Varys. The steward said that Rhaegar knew the way back."

"A remarkable bird. Curious that the Grand Maester would dare keep a Targaryen namesake in Robert's court."

"Can you guess the bird's mate?"

"Lyanna comes to mind, but he would not have been so rash. Elia?"

"This morning Elia was missing from her cage."

"Curiouser and curiouser. I should like to have questioned Clegane. But my little birds tell me he departed by the Dragon Gate before dawn accompanied by a young squire. I had hoped he may have left some word with a friend."

"He has neither squire nor friend."

"Just so. I wonder what he told her. She had only to await the arrival of the King for rescue."

"Sansa was still distraught over her father's death. She would have taken any chance to escape to Winterfell and not question an offer."

"Perhaps she agreed out of gratitude to the brave knight who had avenged her father."

"He may have taken credit, but so much points elsewhere. And there is more." Petyr placed a leather pouch upon the table and withdrew three objects wrapped in white silk.

Varys uncovered each and examined them with great interest. "The bottle is clearly from Pycelle's apothecary." He unstopped it and with his free hand wafted the vapors towards his nose. "Sweetsleep. Mixed with dreamwine it is delicious and deadly." He picked up a blood encrusted knife and turned it around. With a corner of the silk cloth moistened with wine he rubbed clean the hilt and held it up to catch the light. "The design is significant, white ivory with black iron inlay."

"And the meaning?"

"Black iron is for ravenry. The blade was crafted at the Citadel of Valyrian steel." From a stack of blank parchment he took a sheet in his left hand and let it drop onto the blade he held in his right. It fell to the table in two cleanly cut pieces. "Its use is evident."

"And this?" He handed Varys the last object.

It was a feather. "That was found at Cersei's feet."

He took it from Petyr, sniffed it and rubbed the stem between his fingers. "A raven's flight feather; oddly colored. Mostly black but with white streaks, not stained but natural growth. Was not the bird that excreted on Joffrey in the Great Hall mottled?"

"I saw it only an instant but that was my impression. The steward described Rhaegar as completely black."

"Yet it is, nonetheless, from a raven; close enough. Master of Coin, you have made a case. Opportunity, means; and a concealed dynastic motive. Not strong, mind you; but adequate under these extreme circumstances. Slynt is still your man?"

"He has grown more expensive but serves the council." Petyr pushed the warrant across the table to Varys. He carefully read through it. Then he affixed his signature and seal beside Petyr's. "A quorum is sufficient when urgency is required. The King will not fault us. A toast?"

Petyr refilled both their glasses.

"Long live the King."

"Long live the King!"

_**Tyrion**_ sat in Tywin's war council feigning great interest in a recitation of logistics reports. The council still met in a Lannister pavilion while Harrenhal was put to rights. Ser Kevan was discussing horse fodder consumption when he was interrupted by a squire bearing a parchment. He fell flat on the ground before Lord Tywin. "My Lord, I …"

"Get up lad."

"My Lord …"

"Give it to me; I have no need to bend."

Tyrion opened the parchment, read it and froze. … _Joffrey_, _Cersei,_ _Tommen, Myrcella and Lancel._

"Don't you try my patience," said Tywin, extending his hand.

"Father …" Tyrion passed him the parchment, and squeezed his arm.

Tywin looked at Tyrion and then took the message. He was silent while he read and remained silent for the time it would have taken to re-read several times. He sat down heavily. The conversations in the council stopped; all eyes on Lord Tywin. Tyrion watched him with more concern than the others. His father, it was said, had not shed a tear since Tyrion's mother had died giving him birth. He was crying now.

"This council is ended!" shouted Tyrion. "Leave now! Uncle, please assist your brother."

Ser Kevan went to Tywin's side. He read the message over his shoulder. "Oh, no; all of them!" He fought to stifle a sob. His face was ashen.

"Where was Sandor, the Kingsguard! They'll pay with their heads!" Tywin raged.

Tyrion took the parchment and read it again. "This was three days ago. The raven would have reached Dragonstone in one."

"The council would not have told Stannis before us!"

"Uncle, think what this means. There are no Lannisters left alive in King's Landing. Stannis is now king; of course they'd tell him! He may already sit on the Iron Throne."

"My son is right. Tyrion, you will go to King's Landing. Make sense of this. Bend the knee to Stannis and bring Lancel, my daughter and her children home. Take your clansmen with you; there will be fighting."

"Surely, Joffrey should be buried in King's Landing with Robert?"

"Father is right; Stannis will not permit it. But after I assure him that Lord Tywin makes common cause against usurper and rebel alike he may grant a simple family request. I can bend very low. This all does place Jaime in an awkward position. He must swear fealty or be declared outlaw. Robb Stark will be only too pleased to execute the warrant. But if he does return Stannis won't have him in his Kingsguard. He would banish him. Ser Barristan could get some unwelcome company."

"Stannis still needs allies. King's Landing and Dragonstone are not Westeros. He may pull some of the southern lords from Renly, but the Tyrells will stand by him. Martell will wait and see. If we promise Stannis something valuable enough he may give Jaime leave to remain and allow us to deal with Stark."

"What can we offer him, Tywin?"

"An alliance by marriage with my heir."

"So in return for Jaime's freedom he marries Shireen? She has the greyscale. My brother will not like that."

"Jaime gave up his inheritance and right to marry when he took the white cloak; he does not get them back by removing it."

"So you mean … me? Stannis would be insulted by that proposal. He'd probably prefer to get his hands on Edric Storm and keep the throne in the family."

"Stop shirking, Tyrion; you know it's our best gambit. He will have objections; what parent wouldn't? But he recognizes ability and you would make a better king than the lot of them. Make sure you dress your best, and no whoring! He will not find that amusing. Whatever he decides learn who murdered our children."

Tywin stood and gripped Tyrion firmly under the arms. He lifted him standing unto the table. Tyrion was shocked; in all his memory his father had never picked him up.

Tywin drew his dagger and passed the edge across his right palm; and then gave it to his son. Tyrion cut his palm and passed the blade to Kevan who did the same. The three grasped their bloody hands and held them high.

"We pay our debts!"

He waited for just a moment before climbing off the table, perhaps his father would … but no. Tyrion finished his drink. "I'll make an early start. Take care father; we'd be lost without you."

_**Catelyn**_ watched over her every night, yet despite the most determined efforts somehow never was awake when Walda ate and drank. She brushed her hair and traced her face with the barest touch of a finger. What news would she bring of Sansa and Arya, of her dreadful mission? She would be there when Walda wakened. She felt herself drifting and sharply pinched a cheek. There was a faint rustling like dry leaves in a breeze. She heard a pecking on the shutters, and raced to open the window. Two ravens flew in and lighted on the table beside the bed. The larger one was pure white with black eyes. It made a two-footed hop onto the blanket and ruffling its throat feathers spoke, "Cr-r-uck, cruk, Wal-da!" She yawned. Her eyelids fluttered. Catelyn made to embrace her but then stopped as Walda opened her eyes wide. Catelyn in all her northern winters had never seen such an icy blue.

"Blood for blood," she said.


	6. Treason

**Robb at the Crossing, Part VI**

**Treason**

_**Lady Catelyn **_held Lord Hoster's hand as she walked beside his palanquin. His eyes swept the Great Hall. She imagined the flood of memories that he must be reliving. He had been awake for the last hour and was unusually lucid. Ser Edmure had moved quickly to set up the trial. Maester Vyman would not guarantee that his father would remain alert but this was his first good day since the siege ended. The night before a rider brought news that the Blackfish was returning to Riverrun. Edmure hoped his uncle might appear in time, but he would not wait.

The court was sparsely attended with so many lords and knights afield. Guards, scribes and curious members of the Tully household composed what audience there was. Catelyn and Edmure sat either side of Hoster, both engaging him in conversation, thereby hoping to prolong his state of mind. "Walder was always late arriving. I pray this business does not take long. I would visit the field of battle today and hear your account."

"Cat saw more of it than I. Had the Freys come when called my point of view would have been different."

"Has the trial begun? I believe you are presenting evidence."

"Shortly, father. I instructed Ser Robin and Maester Vyman to make Walder presentable and he is not very cooperative."

"Where are the Mallisters, Brackens and Blackwoods?"

"All ride with Cat's son, Robb Stark, or with Brynden. Your brother may visit today."

"Brynden? Has he married yet? That girl over there by the door, she looks a fine match."

Catelyn and Edmure both then noticed Walda. She had entered after them and had not approached. Dressed in woman's garb for once she appeared quite fetching. Catelyn turned to her father and saw a smile on his face. Edmure, too, was entranced.

"Lady Walda, please come forward that I may present you to my lord father."

Walda walked demurely across the hall, the sheer fabric of her emerald gown accentuating her youthful form and graceful movements. The mostly male assembly observed with obvious pleasure. A few recognized her as the fierce huntress who had stopped cold a Lannister charge and they marveled at this transformation. When she reached the dais on which Lord Hoster's palanquin was set Walda curtsied to the floor and bowed her head, her golden locks shimmering.

"Please arise Lady Walda and sit here with me," said Hoster indicating a stool beside Edmure's chair.

"Walda is Lord Stevron's granddaughter. She has been my companion since leaving the Twins. She saved many lives during the battle. Mayhap even mine."

"A warrior! And unwed?" She nodded. "My child, surely you have many suitors?"

"Not so many my lord. I believe I am subject to a bargain between King Robb and Lord Frey."

Hoster took her hand. "Is this true?"

"That would involve us in more evidence, father; but, yes, Robb agreed to marry one of Lord Frey's girls."

"Walda … Walda. Do you stand to inherit the Crossing?"

"No, my lord. That would be cousin Edwyn's daughter."

Hoster smiled at her. "Whatever the bargain my dear, Robb got the best of it. For your service to my daughter and your beauty you shall have anything in my power to grant."

"Before your children I would ask naught but would serve House Tully."

Edmure stared at her, puzzled. "Excuse me, my lady; I saw you only briefly after the fighting, but your eyes, were they not amber? I only noticed because they were so striking. Now they are blue."

She turned to him and smiled dazzlingly. "It was none of my doing; a little magic perhaps? I pray you find them pleasing still."

He started. _Did they just glow?_ "My lady, I could not have imagined it, but the change has only magnified their splendor." Catelyn looked imploringly to the ceiling. Hoster laughed.

Just then the doors opened and several guards entered carrying a litter on which a shrunken Walder Frey sat, his wrists and ankles shackled. He wore a bandage over his raw sockets. Ser Robin and Maester Vyman followed. The litter was placed in front of the dais. "You are before Lord Hoster; kneel!" When Walder failed to respond, Robin placed a heavy hand on his neck and forced it down.

"_Lord_ Hoster … I thought you dead; the stench here would make it seem so, heh!"

Edmure leapt up and shouted, "Silence, insolent wretch!"

"I know that voice; it bleats like my farts."

"Maester Vyman," said Catelyn, "you have worked a miracle. I could close my eyes and almost believe we are in the Twins, such were his courtesies."

"Little Cat, heh? I'd recognize your stink anywhere. Did you know, Hoster, your precious get let me suck her titties before I agreed to her deceit? The cow's left dug is smaller. Then she sucked my cock."

Ser Robin cuffed him hard. Blood filled Walder's mouth and dribbled from his lips. He spit out a blackened tooth.

"Ser Edmure, read the charges."

"Walder Frey, you are accused of treason in that you refused your liege lord's banner call, that you treated with the enemy, Tywin Lannister, seeking reward for following his banner, that you barred the Crossing to House Stark and House Tully until you extorted your toll, that you continued to conspire with the enemy to betray your oath of fealty, and … that by your insolent language you continue to show contempt and disrespect to your lord and his house. How so do you plead?"

"Lies. How could I obey you without committing treason against my King? Joffrey would have my head so I made Stark pay. Only just. Only he didn't pay. She and that get of hers tricked me. And then I was betrayed by my own son. What father would not have been sorely hurt? And what treatment did I receive in your dungeons?! Gelded and blinded! Who gave that order, Hoster? You thought that would make me crawl and beg for mercy? I am Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing! And when Riverrun is ashes I still will be!"

"An unusual defense my lord," said Vyman. "If I understand him correctly first he professes a higher loyalty to the king on the Iron Throne. Then he renounces that loyalty in preference to collecting exorbitant tolls from that king's enemies. Then he claims offense by those he intended to cheat. Then he attacks Ser Stevron for upholding the honor of House Frey. Then he defames your prison and guards. I heard no denial of the facts."

"Maester Vyman, this matter of a "higher loyalty" what is the truth of it?"

"My Lord, practice and tradition are irrefutable. A vassal's fealty is to his liege lord, not the king unless the lands and titles devolve directly from said king. It is the bannerman's duty to obey a call and not question the reason. In the case of rebellion against the crown it has always been understood that the liege lord may be held to account for treason if the rebellion should fail, never his bannermen. A vassal's treason is always to his lord. The system could hardly function otherwise. A man cannot serve two masters; and to abandon one for another risks all."

"So I have always understood the matter. Walder is condemned by his own words. But it is also customary for at least two witnesses to attest to treason. Edmure have you any to present?"

"Lady Catelyn negotiated the terms of the crossing with Walder."

"Father, he made the same arguments to me. He also expressed displeasure with you for not appreciating his worth. Only when I agreed to everything he demanded did he deign to permit our army to cross. There was never the smallest suggestion that he felt any obligation to House Tully."

"It was young Robb who decided to turn the tables on Walder and elevate Stevron?"

"Yes, father. I must admit I did not think it proper at the time. I felt my good word had been sullied. But I have learned much of Walder Frey since and now I have no regrets."

"Truly it was a bold move. Anything more to add?"

"No, my lord father."

"All this you swear as true before the Gods, both old and new?"

"Yes, my lord father, I so swear before the Gods, both old and new."

"Edmure have you a second witness?"

"Brynden would have much to relate, but he has not yet arrived. I myself can attest to Walder's refusal to answer the banner call. Had he marched swiftly the battle may have ended in our favor. It can only be that Walder was already in Tywin's service."

"The first is self-evident. The second is speculation. Is there another witness to Walder's actions at the Twins?"

"Is that necessary father? The evidence is sufficient for a charge of treason."

"Yes, for us here; but these proceedings must appear fair to my bannermen. Treason is no small matter. They must believe in my justice. That is a lord's obligation to his vassals. Remember this, Edmure."

"Yes, father; and also justice for the smallfolk. Then we must adjourn until Brynden arrives. I pray that you will feel ready to resume when he does."

"So be it. I…"

"Lord Hoster, I was there. I can speak to Walder's intent."

"My dear child, I cannot ask you to speak against your kin. We can wait until my brother returns."

"My lord, you just spoke of appearing fair, yet all your evidence comes from Tullys. Permit a Frey to speak."

"Father, let us hear what she knows."

"You may testify, my child. But you are under no compulsion to do so."

"My lord, there was a rider that came to the Crossing. This was before the Lannisters attacked at the Golden Tooth. That night at dinner Walder spoke with his sons. They all were free with their talk not caring that only women listened. One asked Walder what the _lion_ had offered. "Not enough," he said; "only the paramountcy; but we just begin to barter." "What does he want?" asked another. "Nothing; that we do nothing. I am good with that!" They laughed. "And father," asked the first, "What do you want?" "All that the traitor Hoster forfeits, and a fitting marriage to bond our union. There are several possibilities." Then they asked what if he doesn't? "We'll see what the other side offers. Let them compete for Frey aid. They will learn what difference we make in battle. Then he will regret his meanness and come back with a better offer."

"My lady Walda, did Ser Stevron speak?" asked Catelyn.

"He was the one who asked what Tywin wanted us to do. To his credit he did not seem pleased with this business."

"And my child, who was most enthusiastic?"

"You would know him as the Bastard."

"All this you swear as true before the Gods, both old and new?"

"Yes, my lord, I so swear before the Gods, both old and new."

Hoster paused to consider. "Walder Frey, you have heard the testimony against you. What say you?"

"Was that you Walda, my little cunt? You remember well, but you missed one part. I sent word to Tywin that I would have Hoster's head! Heh!"

Edmure handed his father a parchment. Hoster glanced through it, nodded and then read:

"Walder Frey, I find you guilty of treason to your liege lord. I confirm the judgment of Ser Brynden Tully, that you are attainted, forfeit of all lands and titles, rights and privileges, but with no corruption of blood; that Ser Stevron Frey is fully invested as Lord of the Crossing with all rights and duties pertaining thereto. In the name of Robb of the House Stark, the First of his Name, King in the North and King of the Trident, by the word of Hoster of the House Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, I do sentence you to die."

Edmure motioned to Ser Desmond. Servants brought in the ironstone block and placed it in the center of the hall. Large baskets of straw were emptied around it making a thick carpet upon the floor. Guards carried a feebly resisting Walder and forced his head down upon the block. Desmond unsheathed his great sword; it had been finely honed and brightly polished in preparation.

"My Lord! You granted me what was in your power to give. I ask now."

Startled, Hoster looked down at the young woman kneeling before him. "My dear child, sentence has been passed; I cannot take it back."

"I do not ask for mercy; I ask to serve House Tully."

Catelyn gasped, suddenly realizing what was to come.

"I ask to wield the sword."

Walder struggled to raise his head. "Walda, Walda is that you?"

Catelyn clutched her father's arm. "No, by the Seven; no, father! This is wrong; she is just a girl. She hates the old man, but this is not natural. Children do not kill their parents!"

"Lord Hoster, you need not have Frey blood on your hands. My family's loyalty to you and King Robb is not strong; many would readily turn to the Lannisters given a good enough excuse. I can do this. Let it be on my hands."

"But my child; what Catelyn says is true. It would be unnatural, a burden on your soul you could never remove. You would become a kinslayer to all. Ser Desmond knows his work. It will be finished quickly."

"Unnatural?! _HE RAPED ME!_ I was _eight _the first time. Then he passed me around for the others. Lord Hoster, you granted me the right before your court. You cannot take it back!"

A shadow seemed to pass over Hoster's face. He grimly nodded. Catelyn clutched Walda's shoulders and pleaded. "Walda, he will die; let it go. Robb would not want this!"

Walda stood up and gently but firmly removed Catelyn's hands. She turned and walked calmly to Ser Desmond, straight and tall, holding out her hand. Edmure said nothing but followed her. Desmond hesitated until Edmure told him, "Give it to her."

She took the sword in her right hand and passed it flashing through the air. Standing behind Walder she waved the guards back. She kicked off her slippers and worked her bare feet through the straw onto the hard stone floor. Raising the sword to her lips she kissed it. With both hands she hefted the blade over her shoulder. "WALDER!" she shouted. The old man raised his head and turned. "Walda?" The sword swung around in a glistening arc. For an instant his severed head hung in the air, his mouth still forming her name. There was a brief gush of foul blood from his gaping neck. Then head and body dropped onto the straw. The Great Hall was silent except for the cawing of a raven. The sword fell from her hands. Walda knelt and covered her face. She wept. _Mama._

_**Ser Brynden**_ paused at the door. There seemed to be a conversation ongoing inside. _"Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion, Kevan."_ It wasn't in his character to eavesdrop; instead he firmly knocked, "Lady Walda, it is Ser Brynden Tully. May I have a word?" He heard a chair being pushed back and a flapping sound. Wings? _"Cruck, cruck, Jaime."_

The door opened. She wore a simple white night shirt. She smiled warmly, "Ser Brynden, it is a pleasure to see you back safe from the field. Please enter."

He kissed her hand. "I pray I am not disturbing you at this hour."

"No, no; please be seated. Have you met my friends, Rhaegar and Elia? I was teaching them some useful words." The two ravens flew around the chamber and came to perch upon the bedstead.

Brynden sat down heavily. He was dirty and haggard. His beard was scruffy and hair disheveled. His eyes were red and burned. An unpleasant taste filled his mouth. There was a fresh scar on his face. But he laughed when Rhaegar said, "Blackfish, Blackfish." He raised his arm and the white raven flew to it.

"Would you care for some wine?"

"Yes, thank you; I would. When I arrived I went directly to Edmure. He told me about the trial. You are an astonishing woman."

She handed him a brimming cup. He looked closely at her face before taking the wine. "Does Vyman have some explanation for your eyes?"

"No; but he rather likes them this color." Rhaegar _crucked_ and stole a sip from the cup. Brynden waved the bird aside and drank deeply.

"I am not so coy. I come to the point. The news from King's Landing has arrived. It changes everything. Stannis is King and the Lannisters are adrift. We must strike them hard before they recover. But Robb seems content to starve Tywin out of Harrenhal and strike only when he sorties. I would have you go to Robb's camp with my message and persuade him to act now. I would go myself but the Kingslayer has escaped to Casterly Rock and is marshaling a new army."

"You would have me, Ser Brynden? I am only a young girl."

"You test me? You of all people know the penalty for treason."

"I am not yet betrothed. Robb waits until the war ends. He knows what I am and so must you."

"He doesn't know what King's Landing has done to you."

"But you do. Is it pleasing?"

He stood then and looked down at her. She loosened her shirt and let it drop to the floor. She placed her arms around his neck. "There's a war. We could die any day, in battle or by stealth, arrow or sword, ax or hammer, poison or a fall from a horse. Even a white walker. Are you prepared to die without knowing? I'm not." She kissed him. He felt a spark leap between their lips.

"There is ice and fire in you, Walda." He picked her up easily and carried her to the bed. The ravens roosted that night above the hearth.

**_Catelyn_** broke her fast in her father's solar with Edmure and Vyman. "Father was himself again yesterday; a great lord in truth! Thank you Maester Vyman for what you did."

"I fear it took much from him especially how it all ended. It shocked him."

"As we all. Cat, do you think she planned this from the beginning?"

"I don't know. I had no inkling. There were hints I should have seen. No! She could not have. Her pain was genuine. It broke my heart."

"Her tears were real enough. I feared she'd botch it but that stroke was masterful. How could she have grown so under Walder's roof? I visited the Twins years ago and she was lost in a crowd of frightened children."

"I'd wager Walder never understood what he unleashed in his sick rutting."

"That monster is dead. And now the Lannisters. She said, blood for blood."

Ser Brynden strode into the room. For once he was clean and groomed. "Good day."

"By the Seven, uncle, you've bathed. How many months was it this time?"

He smiled. "Too many. I had hoped Walda would be here. I have a matter to discuss with all of you. Tywin won't wait. When he hears of the massacre he will spend little time mourning. We must have the king's ear before the Lannisters." He looked at Catelyn. "You must go and treat for us. Robb spoke for Stannis at the Great Council; Ned died for his cause. He respects you. Make it clear that we are his natural and loyal allies. And search for your daughters."

"Walda found Sansa but naught of Arya. I would have her with me."

"And a score of my best men and whatever Robb can spare. You must see him first."

"Yes, he is our king, still. He might have an opinion about all this."

"Ser Brynden, you must know. She played a part in the Red Keep. I don't know what she did but it can be no coincidence that they all died that same night."

"It would not surprise me. She kills when necessary, as do I."

"She is different since her return, and not just her eyes. She had a scrape with death. It gave her a sense of mortality. She doesn't think she has much time."

"White walkers."

"What was that Brynden? White walkers?"

"I think they may have something to do with it."

Walda entered the solar. She was dressed trimly in azure doublet and hose. The two ravens flew in with her and came to rest on the back of an empty chair. "May we join you?" she said cheerfully.

"Please my lady, sit here," said Edmure indicating a chair beside him. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your companions."

"The white is Rhaegar, the black Elia."

"How romantic. Good day Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia."

_"Cruck!" _

"Remember your manners!"

_"Good day, Ser Edmure, cruck."_

"Good! You know the others."

The birds hopped down the table. _"Cruck, Good day, Ser Brynden, Lady Catelyn, Maester Vyman." _They helped themselves to a boiled egg from Vyman's plate. Everyone laughed.

"Well done, Lady Walda."

"That was but a fraction of what they know. The common tongue is easy for them."

"I'm pleased that yesterday's events do not appear to bear on you."

"It is futile to dwell on the past. Ser Brynden, you have some mission for me?"

"I have asked Lady Catelyn to meet with King Robb and if he agrees to then travel to King's Landing to treat with Stannis. Lady Catelyn wishes you to accompany her. I believe you know the way."

"King Robb commanded me to remain with Lady Catelyn. It is my honor to do so. I ask only to captain the escort. He promised me a troop of good riders and strong mounts."

"You shall have my best. I will assign an experienced sergeant to assist you." Brynden beamed. Catelyn had never seen her uncle beam. Walda smiled back. Did she wink or merely blink?

"Maester Cressen has sent me a warning from Dragonstone. Stannis keeps a priestess of R'hllor with him. He claims Stannis is in her thrall."

"A red priestess, I have never met one. And her name?"

"Melisandre."

"Shall I kill her?" There was an utter coldness in her words. None of them had heard anything like it from her before.

"Walda, we have not come to that! You are no assassin." He took her hand and kissed it.

"And you are a true knight, Ser Brynden." The warmth had returned to her voice. She brushed a stray lock from before his eyes. Catelyn and Edmure glanced at each other exchanging a single thought.

"Lady Walda, I did not mean to suggest Melisandre was an enemy. But she has influence with King Stannis. Learn what you can from her."

"Did not my responsibilities in Riverrun keep me near I would gladly join this embassy. Old Stannis may be more of a concern to Walda than his red witch. But uncle, fear not. My sister will chaperon Fair Walda."

"Your meaning Edmure?"

"I thought it quite clear. Walda is burdened by the folly of old men."

"Tread carefully, nephew."

Walda softly kissed Brynden on the cheek and squeezed his hand. "Ser Edmure, I believe you may find in my great aunt Roslin a most pleasant companion to help pass the time here at Riverrun. I will ask Lord Stevron to send her, chaperoned of course. She is 16."


	7. Persuasion

**Robb at the Crossing, Part VI**

**Persuasion**

_**King Stannis, **_the first of his name, drew his cloak closer around him. His breathe condensed into fleeting clouds. The torches they carried gave no heat. Varys motioned him forward. Neatly set among the great blocks of ice were five wood boxes. The lids were removed by the stewards. Stannis showed no emotion as he glanced in each coffin. The first four bodies could have been sleeping, only their stony pallor spoke of death. At the fifth he paused; it was a shambles despite the best efforts of the Silent Sisters to make it whole. Stannis had seen many battle wounds, and the odd decapitation. No soldier did this; some animal more likely. Yet there was a method to it. The face was untouched and appeared untroubled. He must have already been dead when the gnawing began.

There would be no rumors this time that any had escaped the slaughter; that an imposter was in the grave. He'd have the corpses laid out in the Great Sept to silence doubters. They'd have to do something about Joffrey's head. Mounted on a pike above the Red Keep's gatehouse would be a fitting tribute to the Bastard King. There was room there now. Stannis had no sooner debarked than he ordered the remains of Eddard Stark and his household removed. The heads had been restored to their bodies, such as they were, and placed in marked boxes for return to Winterfell. But no; he would not begin his reign by defiling corpses. He'd give Tywin that much.

"A feeble old man did all this, you say?"

"Your Grace, there are no witnesses, only a few objects of evidence and of what the circumstances speak. Grand Maester Pycelle has not yet been persuaded to reveal the truth. He babbles of ravens and impugns Clegane."

"Pycelle was ever Tywin's man; what motive could he have?"

Petyr Baelish stepped out of the ice fog and into the torch light. "Your Grace, perhaps news of the Stark boy's victory at Riverrun caused him to doubt that Tywin would prevail. No better traitor than a friend. He must have believed he'd earn a great reward."

"Not from me. Robert received his crown from the Lannisters. I will be beholden to no man, no kingslayer. Whatever Pycelle's guilt I would not have kept him. Maester Cressen will continue to serve me here. You, my_ friends_, will keep your offices for the time being. I don't trust either of you so I have no fear of betrayal."  
>"Your Grace, I would not presume to speak for others, but my absolute devotion and loyalty is to the realm. I would not serve you if I believed your claim was not just."<p>

Stannis looked sharply at Varys. "And do you serve me now, without equivocation?"

The Master of Whispers prostrated himself in a cold puddle, "Yes, your Grace."

Stannis turned to the Master of Coin. He dropped to the floor beside Varys, "Yes, your Grace."

"Arise, you're getting wet. I still don't trust you, but you may live longer."

A page appeared and knelt shivering before Stannis. "Your Grace, a ship has entered the Blackwater. It flies your standard."

_**Tyrion**_ absently scratched his butt. It was a warm afternoon. He and Bronn had been standing in a hilltop meadow under a banner of peace for nearly an hour. The Stone Crows had reported that Robb's army, not Dondarrion's bandits, was blocking the kingsroad and the land east to the sea. It had taken several days to make it this far, fighting most of the way. It was worth a try. "If we get killed, I swear I'll kill you," Bronn muttered.

They did not have to wait much longer. A score of horsemen approached from a nearby wood. In the lead Tyrion noted the sleek form of a young woman. He knew Robb had several in his host but this girl he could not place. She wore the Frey sigil and carried an exotic short bow, Dornish or maybe Dothraki. Her stallion was spirited but moved with a practiced lightness and direction. So far as he could see she used no reins. The girl's blonde hair bounced most agreeably as she rode. The other riders surrounded the two men with lowered spears as she came up before them. From her saddle a cord depended. Along it were strung a number of blackened fleshy objects. Ears, he concluded. Could she be from the mountain clans?

"Tyrion Lannister; you are as they describe."

"Less the horns and tail, or was it horn and tails? And you my lady?" She had striking blue eyes. They seemed to glow with a light of their own. Her cheeks were marked with red streaks.

"Walda Frey, daughter of Walton, granddaughter of Lord Stevron, bannerman of House Tully, sworn to King Robb."

"I would have guessed a Black Ear; I've met some."

"They sound admirable. What is your business in the Riverlands?"

"My purpose is to visit King's Landing to make obeisance to our new king, Stannis. I humbly request passage. You have heard of his ascension?"

"The North already has its king. Your Joffrey had a sense of humor. Do all Lannisters share it?"

"We did differ on some things. He often laughed at me."

"Make me laugh." Before Tyrion could blink she had notched and loosed an arrow. It struck the ground between his legs, driving in to the fletchings. Walda danced her mount around Tyrion. "Your Joffrey would have laughed to see you shit your pants."

He stuck his hand down his backside and pulled it out unsoiled. "Not today."

"And no sport in the shot."

"If you like you could try again with my pants off. It is said that when standing a dwarf's dong will touch the ground."

The men, including Bronn laughed. Walda smiled. "Not today, ser dwarf. I might nail it there."

"If it pleases your ladyship my dong only reaches my knees."

Walda spun around and loosed a second arrow just brushing Bronn's crotch. He jumped.

"Ah, the sellsword Lady Catelyn mentioned. Bronn is it? Did I frighten your little bird?"

"No, your ladyship. But you did wake him up."

"As quick with your lip as your blade. How good are you with a bow?" She offered hers.

Bronn took the bow, turned it around and drew back the string. "A strong pull."

"It is Dothraki, made with horn and sinew. Unstring and string it. That is the first test."

Bronn looked up at her bemused. Planting one end of the bow on the ground between his feet, he pushed down on the other end with his right hand and made to slip the loop off the nock with his left. He pushed and pushed again hard; he put his weight into it and with a grunt the string came loose. But then the bow suddenly twisted and snapped forwards striking his right hand. "Yow!" He jumped back.

The men who had been watching laughed uproariously.

"Lesson learned, your ladyship."

"Well enough for a first try; now string it."

He held the bow now unstrung; the tips well forward of the grip. Bronn thought for a moment. Clamping the bow tightly between his knees he leaned his hip against the curve, while pulling back the crook with his right hand. Gripping the loop of the string hard with his left hand he pulled it up to meet the nock. Slowly the curve of the bow began to straighten. His knuckles whitened, sweat dripped from his brow. In her saddle Walda sat with legs up and crossed calmly observing. Bronn's hand slipped and the bow kicked back violently. There was more laughter from the men. Walda looked around and frowned, "Not one of you succeeded on the first try! It took me a day of trying."

Bronn spit on both hands, took the loop in his teeth and with both hands pulled back on the tip. The bow finally reversed. He moved his head back, the tendons in his neck protruding. With a final effort he slipped the loop into the nock. He stood up straight and handed the bow back to Walda. The men nodded approvingly. Tyrion noticed that several men carried similar bows.

"Ser Bronn, you are very strong; but there are other ways to string this bow. I could show you how a girl can do it in the saddle."

"Your ladyship, that I would like to see."

"Ah, if you would join me; my tricks are only for sworn men. I cannot match Lannister gold, but there are other benefits."

"My Lady Walda, Bronn is under a contract."

She looked back at the sellsword. He shrugged. She winked, stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled so piercingly that Tyrion grimaced and held his ears. A covey of ptarmigans burst from the brush at least 50 paces away. With two quick shots using arrows held in her bow hand she brought down a brace. Tyrion noticed movement above and saw a large white bird darting down. It grabbed one of the dead grouse in its talons and flapped slowly away into the trees.

"In the field we have fresh game every day." Two of Walda's men raced each other to claim the remaining bird.

"My Lady, you could easily have stopped that thief."

"White ravens are almost as rare these days as Lannisters. I've a mind to spare a few."

"A dwarf Lannister is even rarer."

"So they are. My king may consider your petition if only for your novelty. You will come alone, blindfolded; and ride one of our horses. You will be returned here by nightfall tomorrow. We will respect your banner until then. Bronn, you and the others will be safe from us if you keep the peace and do not stray beyond this point. I cannot speak for those who disdain all banners. Truth be told if they kill you all I will have no regrets. Oh, perhaps just one; a very small one."

Tyrion turned to Bronn, "Do as she says. If I don't return, you remember where I hid the gold?"

"If I knew that I wouldn't be here now. Just make sure you come back, you owe me."

"'Little bird', ha!"

"She knew where to find my cock. Advantage mine."

"Just the same, you would be wise not to wave it around. That one might bite it off."

Walda whistled again. This time, two pack houses led by a rider appeared at the tree line and trotted forward. There was a body on each horse. Tyrion stared; he recognized them. Walda had the bodies laid on the ground before Tyrion. "Stone Crows I believe; they died bravely."

"I knew them." He noticed an ear missing from each. "Bronn, return them to Shagga; tell him … just tell him."

_**Tyrion **_felt the pain grow in his legs. They had been riding hard for several hours. He was thirsty. How much longer, he wondered? The sun was no longer hot on his face. Had it already set? The pace slowed. After a time he felt a soft touch on his hand. "Joffrey, now, he could not take a jest. It is said that was his downfall. So unlike his father. They say King Robert would have laughed at some bird shit on his head. The Dothraki would count it good fortune. Are you certain you are a trueborn Lannister? Your mother never strayed from Tywin's bed?"

"I believe they loved each other. She died when I was born." He heard her take a sharp intact of breath. "You have been to court, my Lady Walda?"

"If you mean the Iron Throne I have never had the pleasure of a summons. I hear Stannis has no humor at all. Your audience promises much. Perhaps the ravens will give some report."

"And you could tell me what happened to Walder, your great-grandfather."

"You could see for yourself. For a month his head will remain on a traitor's pike at Riverrun."

"Would my condolences be appropriate?"

"Not to me or any I care for. But I forget myself; would you care for a drink?"

"Very much so, my lady."

Walda guided his hands to the wine skin and uncorked it for him. Her touch strangely thrilled him. He swallowed a deep draft.

"Ah, a southern vintage." He swallowed again.

"From the Arbor. Liberated from a Lannister wagon. Perhaps from your very cellar?"

"All the same, thank you."

"I have been wondering if it's true about something."

"About what, my lady?"

"Bronn's dong." He felt a quick kiss on his lips. She laughed merrily and rode away leaving him with the wine, tongue-tied. _Got the last word; that doesn't happen often. How is it I've never heard of you?_

"Guard, there; it would be easier if I knew your name."

"Brandon, your impship."

"Well, my good Brandon, how long has Lady Walda led your troop?"

"Fishing, your impship? Long enough."

"Surely, there is some innocent story that won't reveal any military secrets?"

"Well, they say that there was a man who annoyed her, asked too many questions. She cut off his balls, gouged out his eyes, stuffed them in his mouth, and took off his head with one stroke. If I were you, your impship, I wouldn't annoy her."

_**Tyrion**_ dozed. The wine was strong and he had emptied the skin. He dreamed of Shae, her touch, her taste, her smell. She seemed so near. _Bran. _No, he didn't want to go there. Shae, she was before him; she reached out … _Bran. _The Stark boy, yes; bad business that. He stood on the Wall, he had to piss. He stepped out; the cold bit his face; he was falling… _Bran_. He felt crowded. Something was pushing in, There was no place to run. Ice, ice only ice.

He woke with a start, his bladder ready to burst. "Guard, there; I need to stop for a moment."

"What's that ser imp?"

"I would not appear before your king in wet pants. I did that once before."

"Rickard, come to think of it, I could use a moment myself."

"Wait." Tyrion heard a horse trot away. Waiting did not seem a good option.

"Put a cork in it, imp. He's coming back."

"You may dismount, Lannister." Tyrion lowered himself from his horse as quickly as he could, but his cramped leg caught in the stirrup. He felt himself falling. "Shit!" At the last instant strong hands grabbed him around the waist and set him lying in the mud unhurt. Scrambling to his feet he said, "Point me in the right direction."The hands turned him and pushed him forward a few steps.

"There you go, imp."

He loosened his belt and tugged it out. It was a good long piss. He sighed and began to pull himself together.

She snickered. "Seen better, ser dwarf; but all men are braggarts."

_**It**_ _**was**_ some time later when he sensed a difference in the smells and noise in the air, smoke and chatter, the bustle of a great encampment. The pace picked up. There were a few more turns and then the horse stopped. "Here we are, your impship. Off you go."

"I'll need your assistance again, my Good Brandon." He helped Tyrion to the ground.

"Need to piss again?"

"Only when I can take off this fucking blindfold."

"You can ask King Robb. Come along, I'll steer you." He felt a firm hand on his shoulder nudging him along. It was a short walk and into a pavilion, warm and redolent of unbathed bodies and roasted meat. Someone's fingers untied his blindfold and it fell away. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. A large group of rough looking men and a few women somewhat less so sat around many trestle tables, laughing, talking, drinking and spearing steaming chunks from large platters with their knives. He recognized Robb immediately speaking animatedly with an enormous fellow waving a shank of mutton. His mouth watered. A great wolf with yellow eyes looked up from under the table and bared his teeth.

"Your Grace, you have a visitor." It was Walda speaking from behind him. Her clear lilting voice cut right through the hubbub. Robb looked up at a point above Tyrion's head. He jumped to his feet, a huge grin on his face, his eyes sparkling. Robb clambered over the table, knocking over cups and plates. "To her, lad!" the Greatjon thundered. Walda ran past Tyrion and met her king as he jumped to the ground. They embraced and kissed with abandon. He lifted Walda from the ground and spun her around. The pavilion erupted in cheers and shouts. The wolf howled. Theon whooped and pounded the table. Tyrion smiled despite himself. The difference between this and the Lannister camp could not have been more stark. There were some, however, who did not seem to share in the merriment. One was a tall dark haired woman in battle dress carrying a savage mace over her shoulder, standing behind where Robb had been seated. Her face would have been quite lovely were she only to smile. Several men seated together gave the couple hard looks. And then he noticed Lady Catelyn glaring at him. He nodded to her, then stared straight ahead and waited to be recognized.

Walda laughed. "My king you have another visitor." She gestured to Tyrion.

"Yes, Tyrion, you must think me as poor a host as when last we met at Winterfell, but it has been too long since I saw Fair Walda. It was the day we learned of my lord father's death."

"Your Grace," he bowed low, "our families have both suffered grievously. As a Lannister I offer my sincere condolences. Eddard Stark was a good man and no traitor. Tommen and Myrcella were good children; you met them at Winterfell. She spoke fondly of you. He wished to be a knight."

The pavilion had become quiet, all seemed to strain to hear his words. There were many, no doubt prepared to shout him down. There was murmuring. Walda hid her face on Robb's shoulder. "I would hear it from your own lips. Did you try to kill my brother?"

He looked to Catelyn and then back to Robb. "I do swear before the Gods, both old and new, that I did not!"

All eyes were on Robb. Walda squeezed his arm and stepped back. Robb stared for a moment at Tyrion. "Please come ser, we must talk." The onlookers were perplexed, not knowing how to respond to this unlikely courtesy. Robb sensed the unease and addressed them. "_Lord_ Tyrion's words are welcome, but his father and brother still torment our lands. I would hear what else he has to say. My war council! Tyrion please come with me."

_**Catelyn**_ sat at a large table. With her were the other council members, Theon Greyjoy, Jon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Stevron Frey, Maege Mormont, and Galbart Glover. Robb told a page to bring meat, ale and cheese for the newcomers. Grey Wind lay at Walda's feet.

Robb spoke. "You travel to King's Landing. Stannis is no friend of the Lannisters. More than any he profits from their demise. What makes you think he won't kill you outright let alone grant an audience?"

"I am a dwarf. There would be no honor in my death and Stannis is an honorable man. He may not accept a Lannister's word but he'll listen. Just as you are."

"And he would ask what Tywin want's in return. It is not peace or your mission would be first to me."

"One negotiates from a strong position. My lord father would make his stronger."

"Why then should I permit your embassy to proceed? This very day we raided the Lannister camps. Many will go hungry tonight. The meat on your plate comes from Lannister supply trains. Already there are desertions; they will increase. Soon enough your father will have to choose a heroic death or starvation … or parley, from a very weak position."

"My brother will have a say in that. That lion is loose. Was it not your plan that he share a cell with Ser Stevron's lord father? And how does Lord Walder fare? Does your lordship wear well, my _lord_?"

"My father paid the traitor's price for treating with Tywin, dwarf. As for _'lordship'_ how sweet is Casterly Rock to you?"

"I would come by it naturally. Did you not receive yours from Tully hands dripping with father's blood?"  
>Catelyn looked to Walda and saw her lips move silently. Would she speak? The girl had insisted that Robb and Stevron hear the account from her first. They did not know. Catelyn had said only that Walder had been tried and beheaded. But rumors in the camp were rife.<p>

Stevron stood. "Treason is unnatural. As are you, dwarf! Your father's shame!"

Robb placed a hand on Stevron's shoulder. "This banter serves us little."

"My King, might I speak?"

He saw her tremble. "My lady, what is it?"

"No Tully hand slew Walder." She raised both her hands. "It was by these. I am the kinslayer. Is it not so Lady Catelyn?"

"Yes, dear Walda; it was truly a mercy."

"Walda, my child! What cowardice stayed my hand? You know what they …"

"They will fear, grandfather."

"Let all fear a woman's hand." Maege slammed the table with her fist.

Robb took Walda's hands in his and kissed them. "I would wash all this blood away."

Tyrion watched in wonder. What a hornet's nest he'd struck. Was there some advantage here?

"There you have news, even I did not know. I will give you a message for your father. My terms are simple. He returns to the Westerlands with all his force save only Gregor Clegane, Vargo Hoat, and Amory Lorch. They will be surrendered to my justice. If Lord Lannister, the Kingslayer or any of his bannermen, sellswords or agents of any kind ever set foot in my kingdom again I will raze Casterly Rock to the ground. Can you remember that much or must I commit it to parchment?" Tyrion nodded. "When you return with his response then I will consider your request."

"Spare me the journey your Grace; the march this far was costly enough in time and lives. I will tell you now what he will say, 'there can be no peace while one of us lives'."

"Have it his way, then. Walder's head is lonely with only crows as company!" Theon sneered.

The Greatjon laid the rib he had been chewing on the table. "But Lannister what are your terms? After all, this bloody business began over an accusation against you, which I believe has been withdrawn?" He glanced pointedly at Catelyn.

"Yes … I was badly misled by someone I trusted."

"And yet the war continues, each day with its tally of dead, high born and low. So, what might Westeros expect from Lord Tyrion Lannister? … Come now, Lannister, surely you've given it thought? It may come to you soon enough, naturally or not. No one is completely safe, even in his own keep."

"_Cruck, cruck, well met Tyrion Lannister, cruck."_

A large white raven landed on the table seemingly from nowhere. It swaggered up to Tyrion and snatched a morsel from his plate. _"Lord Tyrion Lannister, cruck."_

For an instant Tyrion's face betrayed his shock. It did not go unnoticed. But as quickly he laughed. "Portents and omens? The raven has spoken. You have no need of a fool, King Robb, with birds to entertain." He fed another piece of mutton to the raven. "Your name, Ser Raven?"

"_Rhaegar, Rhaegar, cruck."_

"A proud name for a noble bird. I see you feed well."

Catelyn caught Walda's eye. _What game are you playing?_

Theon who had found it difficult not gawking at Walda noticed the exchange.

"Rhaegar, come here." Robb tapped the table. The bird hopped over and dipped his beak to the table. _"Your Grace, cruck!"_ Then he jumped on Robb's outstretched arm. "Rhaegar is no man's fool. I would like to hear your answer to Lord Umber's question."

"I am a simple man; I wish only peace and justice, if King Stannis will allow. I have no claim on the Riverlands or the North. And I will reveal something more. My father does not expect Stannis to take his side over yours, only to remain neutral. Renly should keep his brother occupied for some time. My reason for going to King's Landing is much planer, to return the bodies of our dead to Casterly Rock and avenge their murder."

"Tyrion, Stannis will surely agree, as I believe he will to my request for Ned and all who died serving him. He is hard but not heartless."

"My Lady Catelyn, perhaps we may travel together and so make our petitions one?"

"But wouldn't that imply some equivalency? Men are not all brothers in death. Let the murderers wait on the murdered."

"As you will, my lady. Your Grace, do I then have your leave to go?"

"You may rest here a few hours. Before dawn you will depart for the rendezvous. On the third day we shall watch for your return. My men will escort you as far as Stannis's word rules. The Crownlands are near. You may bring one man with you."

"Thank you your Grace. Perhaps we can talk of other matters now." Walda refilled Tyrion's cup with ale.

"You do not recoil from a kinslayer's hands?"

"Were they not already claimed I would dare to ask for them." Walda smiled.

"A chivalrous riposte, Tyrion. Lady Mormont might care to hear news of her brother."

"I was most impressed by the Lord Commander. Your brother does his House proud."

"I would have him at my side in this war. How has he aged? It has been long since we met."

"Nearly bald, his beard is grizzled, strong as an aurochs but they call him the 'old bear'. And he has a constant companion. You may find this interesting my Lady Walda, his friend is a raven. Speaks, too; but not with Rhaegar's facility."

"Nonetheless it would be amusing to hear them converse. It may be difficult to understand them for ravens have their own language. I have often imagined visiting the Wall."

"The vista from the top will haunt you. One might easily believe in grumpkins and snarks. The Lord Commander asked for my help the last night. He wanted me to speak to the King, we had only one then, and plead the case of the Night's Watch. You are the first king I've encountered since so you shall hear it. They are too weak to defend the Wall. Mormont has barely three and a third men for each mile. And their quality is poor. Too few join willingly with honorable motives. The recruits Jon and I travelled with included thieves and rapists. 'Winter is coming' is not just a Stark motto, Mormont believes it is nearly upon us. The mountain people are running from something terrible. There are reports of white walkers near Eastwatch. He fears for the realm, that the darkness will sweep south."

Maege gripped her mace, and then set it down. "Robb, I would ride tomorrow, with your leave."

"Our help would mean nothing if we turn our backs to Tywin. Have you told this to your father?"

"He says Mormont is always grumbling about something. I imagine Stannis will be more receptive."

"I am King in the North and will send word to Castle Black. Only words now but a promise of real help when peace is won."

"King Robb, _your_ brother asked me to give you a message. Regretfully I failed to convey it last we met. It would seem more relevant now. "

"It wounds me to hear that my ill manners delayed word from Jon. What did he say?"

"That he would command the Night's Watch and keep you safe, so you could melt your sword into horseshoes and take up needle work with your sisters."

They all laughed, even Catelyn. But there were tears in Robb's eyes.

"We stood together atop the Wall. He was on guard, his wolf (Ghost is it?) was with him. He offered his hand and called me friend. I hadn't expected that."

Robb stood. "That saddle for Bran you drew the picture of, I had it built. It works. Thank you." He extended his hand. Tyrion took it in his.

"You are most welcome, King Robb."

_**Robb**_ held Walda close. They lay naked together in the furs. With his free hand he fondled her breast.

"Your great uncle wanted me to persuade you; were you persuaded, my sweet?"

"Brynden was on your mind? If I had thought of him I'd be a poor lover. He wanted something?"

"Yes, silly! It was his plan that Lady Catelyn treat with Stannis. And I, by your command, travel with her; and consequently share your bed this night. So speak kindly of Ser Brynden. You read his message?"

"Oh, that message." Robb considered for a moment. "He argued for an attack on Harrenhal before. I didn't agree then. My way is working. It's not just waiting for the fruit to fall, we strike often and hard. Tywin is weakened each time. He gets no provisions or fresh levies. But now with Joffrey dead and Stannis enthroned it may be time."

"He sent Tyrion through your lines; that's an act of desperation."

"Tyrion didn't appear very desperate."

"I believe he is considering the possibilities. They may favor him. He is cleverer than most. I like him."

"I may become jealous if you keep this up. Who's next, Stannis?"

She straddled his chest and brought her face nose to nose with Robb's. "Poor little boy; I want only one man tonight."

"Mother told me of your eyes, they're beautiful. This happened while you slept?"

She shrugged and rolled off him onto her back. "Fine if you'd rather talk … I do not understand it. Maester Vyman had no explanation. But my raven changed, too; from black to white. We flew in my dream. It was magnificent! I will teach you and we'll fly together."

"It might disturb my bannermen if I came back changed, with golden hair, perhaps?" They laughed. "Maybe a short flight. How came you by him?"

"It was Rhaegar who brought word of your lord father's death. There is also Elia, his mate. He freed her from the Red Keep."

"_Freed_ her?"

"I just watched. He figured it out all himself."

"Is Rhaegar how you found Tyrion?"

"Lord Karstark permitted me to take my troop on patrol while awaiting your return. He was prudent enough to reinforce us with 100 riders. There were reports of activity east of kingsroad. We searched and found only a few outriders. But ravens have very sharp eyes. To look through them is to see the world anew."

"A watcher in the skies. If only we could be in two places at once; see the enemy's movements from above and command in the field. Did you nap?"

"I was not with Rhaegar when he found Tyrion."

"But … how?"

"He knows how to hunt. I just taught him some names."

The raven lighted on Walda's shoulder. _"Cruck, good day King Robb."_

"Grey Wind, speak!"

The wolf looked up lazily from where he lay under a blanket. _"Woof."_

"Good wolf."

She reached under the furs and felt him. "Seems you're ready for more persuasion."

"And what instruments will you use?"

"My lips, my tongue, my hands, my feet, my arms, my legs, and all the parts you like especially. But first I must show you how to 'persuade' me."

"And what instruments shall I use?"

"You have so much to learn, Robb Stark."

_**Tyrion**_ lifted his blindfold. He had not spoken with Walda or heard her voice doing the long ride back so was not surprised when he did not see her. Bronn glumly waved a greeting and helped him off the horse. One of the escorts came up, leaned over and rubbed the top of Tyrion's head. Laughing he said, "I promise you this, your impship, if we ever meet in battle I won't kill you; I'll take you for ransom."

"Generally, the wiser course with a Lannister. Fare thee well, Good Brandon." He trotted away.

"So, what of her ladyship?"

"Out of reach, I fear. She has Robb Stark's heart. But count yourself fortunate, she also has a disturbing tendency to cut a man down to size."

Bronn cast him a wry glance. "No luck with her bow, eh?"

"In a manner of speaking. How far is Rook's Roost from here?"

"If nobody attacks us, maybe half a day. So the Stark boy won't let us through?"

"He would delay us three days; all the more reason to get there sooner. If there's a boat to hire we'll be in King's Landing in two."


	8. Dreams

**Robb at the Crossing, Part VIII**

**Dreams**

_**Dacey Mormont **_opened her eyes and looked up through the tent's open smoke flap; just grey clouds above but there was enough light to see. She leaned on her arm and studied the snoring man lying beside her. More a boy really, Dacey was three years his senior; but his age was not the problem. Her name day had come and gone without his notice. It simply hadn't occurred to him that she would have appreciated a sweet word, a flower, some token, perhaps even a gift. When they camped near a village she had soon learned not to await his return. He'd eventually climb in beside her before dawn, exhausted, smelling of wine and whores. She'd push him away. Sometimes he would feebly probe, grunt and fall asleep; other times he was insistent. He knew even in his cups not to force his way for she was his match. But he was annoying and charming in equal measure and she did so love his body. He was lean and strong, his skin smooth and unblemished. In the heat their bodies would glide over and into each other. It was a delicious feeling. They had developed a raw routine. She would quickly satisfy him and then cuddle until they slept. Or, when she felt the need, tease and stroke him into a near frenzy, eager to do normally repellant things. They would eventually collapse spent and ecstatic. Neither wanted to be alone at night. In the morning they'd joke and kiss. During the day they'd serve their king with diligence but find moments to smile and exchange knowing glances. Then he would do something heartless.

As far as she could determine she was his first highborn lady; his reticence on the subject was endearing. It was a droll circumstance in that she should be counted somehow higher born then the children of fishers and farmers with whom she grew up. And a lady? Her mother was a warrior first. She had given baby Dacey a toy mace to chew on. It was replaced with a heavier one each name day. Her father she barely knew and her sisters were of different blood. She had been schooled in courtly manners and found most of them laughable. But she realized the effect she had on those rare occasions when she did play the role. Above the other maids she stood head and shoulders, tall, slender and beautiful. The men would dream, and the women judge. There was a kind of power there and it excited her.

They were both heirs to their respective houses, the Kraken and the Bear, so might have seemed a good match. She was very fond of him and their nights together were usually enjoyable. But love? No. For a time she believed so. But since Riverrun he had made no secret of his infatuation with the fair-haired Frey girl. As had Robb Stark. The day the Mormonts arrived in Winterfell in answer to the banner call her mind said that Robb was the right man for her. What could be more natural than a union of northern houses? Her mother had encouraged the idea. Robb was even younger but more a man, with mature concerns far beyond his personal desires. _He_ would not have missed her name day even with a war to fight. Yet despite her best efforts to gain his attention, another had caught her scent.

"_Dacey, I was admiring that mace of yours. Might I …?" He held out his hand._

_They were almost eye to eye, if anything she was somewhat taller. Her mother had already told her his story. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "We are both from rough islands, Theon Greyjoy, but I'd have thought the Starks would have taught you some courtesy." _

_He blinked and then bent low in an extravagant bow. "My Lady Dacey, I beg your forgiveness. I had no thought to offend you with my iron born ways."_

_She tapped him on his shoulder with her mace. "Well enough Theon. Admire it as much as you may. Only have a care that you do not injure yourself."_

_He took the weapon from her with one hand, and nearly dropped it, badly misjudging its weight. She grinned, "There's no woman's size." They both laughed. He hefted the mace properly, lifted it over his head and swung it down to his side. "Good balance. You've had occasion to use it?"_

"_There were reavers; they left fewer than came." _

"_No one from Pyke, I pray?"_

"_We are at peace with Lord Balon, else you would not be standing here. I would regret that."_

_He bowed to her again, this time in earnest. "Might I have the pleasure of my lady's company at dinner? We could discuss our islands." _

"_That would please me, ser."_

"_It has been ten years since last I tasted the sea."_

"_They say the women of Bear Island have sea salt in their milk."_

"_I should visit then, if you would guide me."_

She kissed him. He yawned and stretched his arms. "Oh, you. Morning, Dacey." She gave him a swift slap. "What was that for? I'm awake!"

"I was feeling tender for a moment and you just ruined it."

"You want to use the pot first?"

"Ah, the true knight; you are most generous ser." She went to relieve herself. "Theon, you remember what the Greatjon told us back at Winterfell?"

"Many things; he was rarely silent."

She stood up and began dressing. "He said, 'let no sword touch Robb but through you.' If it comes to that would you give your life for him?"

"I give nothing; I risk everything. What's this all about?"

"If he died she would be free."

"Dacey! Don't think that of me. I grew up with Robb and love him as my brother. I am no Ser Brynden but I have that much honor. Yes, I am a fool to dream of her when your love is real."

She kissed him again.

_**Walder Rivers**_ and his son Aemon rode far out beyond the pickets. They crossed abandoned fields turned to weeds and forded a swiftly running stream. The early morning sun glittered in the ripples. When they came to a dark grove of ancient trees they dismounted and walked their mounts.

"The rumors are true. My trueborn brother told us all last night. The little whore has our Lord's blood on her hands. Stevron sounded proud of what she did, calling her the only Frey with any courage. Killing a broken old man; what honor in that? She wasn't so proud when the Lord first took her. You'd think she would be grateful. We would have split her wide open if he hadn't stopped us. He just wanted the honey all to himself until she grew too old."

"A kinslayer has no family. How dare she wear the Frey sigil!"

"There is more Stark in her than Frey. The pup lusts for her. They howl together like wolves coupling. But he cannot save her."

The forest thinned ahead. They tethered their horses and continued quietly to the edge of a glade still in shadow and mist. Each carried a spear and bow. With a few fallen branches and armfuls of dead grasses they constructed a crude blind. Then they waited. They shared a skin of wine and cut slices from a dry sausage. The sun had risen above the trees when they heard a snort and a deep rumbling. The stag entered the glade first. It stood frozen for a long moment and then walked calmly on. His does followed. Both men silently notched their arrows. At a whispered command from Walder they loosed. Something spooked the stag. In an instant he bolted. The arrows flew harmlessly by. "Seven Hells!" Walder cursed. "We won't get another chance today. It's an hour back to camp and we muster at noon." He looked abjectly around the glade and noticed a large black bird perched on a branch near the spot where the stag had stood. "Don't move Aemon." Facing away from the bird Walder slowly notched a second arrow. He turned suddenly and loosed. The arrow struck the bird in the breast. It struggled to fly, but after a few flaps it fell to the ground. The two men ran forward and with their spears pushed the tall grass aside. "Here's the bugger!" It was still trying to move. Walder grabbed it by the head and shook it violently. The neck snapped. He pulled out his arrow and stuffed the bird in his sack. "At least we won't return empty handed. Let's see what the cook can do with raven."

They walked back to their horses. Walder paused and opened his saddlebag and extracted a leather case.

"My father requested quill and parchment before the battle to write his will, as he expected to die shortly. These were granted but afterwards when they came for the will he told them that since he was still alive he would have some codicils to append. They did not find it when they searched his cell in Riverrun."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he managed to pass it to me." He handed the case to his son. "Read it carefully, Ser Aemon Frey, heir to the Crossing."

_**Brynden Tully**_ was weary from many hours in the saddle. It was his custom to lead from the front and never demand from his men anything he was not prepared to do. They expected it of him and judged themselves by his standard. Shirkers did not last long. But each year it meant pushing himself farther. This campaign had been the hardest of his life for he was old and the stakes had never been higher. Word from the Westerlands was disturbing, in that there wasn't any. He had watchers as far as Lannisport and he had been receiving their reports for weeks. They had told of Jaime Lannister's arrival at Casterly Rock and his resolute actions to reform the army. It was larger now than the first but lacked the veteran fighters lost at Riverrun. The ranks of levies were stiffened with sellswords, pirates, brigands and whatever fighters could be bought with Lannister gold. Also the redcloak guards and sundry Lannister retainers would soon be returning from King's Landing as Stannis purged the city. But there had been no word at all for three days. It could only mean that Jaime's outriders had successfully sealed the marches. The attack would come soon.

His plan was to spoil the Kingslayer's with a major raid into the Westerlands. With luck it would buy a few days for Robb to deal with Tywin … if his message and Walda's powers of persuasion sufficed to spur the lad. During the raid what strength remained behind would concentrate at Riverrun. Edmure would have another opportunity to display his qualities. There would be enough to hold the walls but not much else. He did not regret assigning a score of his best men to Cat's escort. It was vital to their cause that Stannis hear her out. She and Walda must have reached Robb's camp by now.

There were men in the Vale ready to rally to his side at a word from him. He had not already done so in deference to Cat and Edmure. Both were adamant that he do nothing to antagonize their sister while there was still hope she would declare for Robb. But if they came on their own he could hardly send them back; at least not until the battle was won. A hundred good knights would make the difference. He could depend on Bronze Yohn. The Royces would come through whatever Lysa's timidity.

Brynden and his bands scouted the marches. The frontier between the Riverlands and Westerlands was ill-defined, mountains and forests with few paths. Jaime had strongly garrisoned the Tooth; he had come that way before. This time he would come another if only to assuage those who felt it ill-omened to begin again in the same manner that had led only to disaster. Perhaps. Brynden knew the marches well. There was another pass through the mountains large enough for an army to march. If he knew it others surely did. How would Jaime play the game? Not so long ago this would have been his sole concern, only that which might affect the outcome. Just two weeks before he had urged Robb and Walda to marry now and not wait for peace. It was best for the new realm that there'd be an undisputed heir. But then …

She had given him a lock of her hair, "before it turns white", she joked. He carried it around his neck in a small pouch. Before sleeping and sometimes just when he had some time to himself he'd open it and press the curls against his lips. For that moment her memory became reality, and impossibly wonderful and terrible dreams filled his mind. Robb would tire of her. Robb would die. All his brother's children would die and he'd inherit Riverrun and she'd come to him. They would escape across the Narrow Sea and begin a new life as lord and lady. They would have children; she was already carrying his son. She would discover some warg in him and they would fly together with her ravens far above the mundane. He would storm the Tower of Sorrow and save her from a Targaryen's dragon. And then as suddenly the magic would end. It was all a mad fantasy.

He was the most ridiculous and contemptible of creatures, a lonely old man in love with a young woman, a pretty girl who had pitied him for one night. Edmure had called it. Had they been so obvious? Or was it just him and he was imagining that she too glowed with love newly roused? When he died and his bloody corpse was stripped they'd open the pouch seeking gold or jewels. Well might they wonder. May the Gods grant that they cast it into his grave.

_**Tywin Lannister**_ spoke to his brother, Kevan. "You still harbor doubts of Tyrion?"

"Resourceful, to be sure. But do you trust him in all things? There is no certainty whose cause he'll plead to Stannis."

"If there is one thing I know with certainty it is that he will never betray me. I am not blind to his emotions. He has always sought my approval, acceptance and he has earned it time and again. But I am not a loving man and will only dole it out as needed. He killed what love was in me."

"When you acknowledged him your heir I could see the change in his face. But it was including him in our oath that truly affected him." Kevan smiled and placed a hand on Tywin's shoulder.

"A little theater, that. It is enough that he believes. It will make him a better emissary if he expects to benefit."

"Brother, Stannis will never absolve Jaime of his oath or accept him as lord of anything."

"Yes, we shall have to do something about that. But we must survive first. Come, look at the map. Stark's raids have come from the west. The kingsroad south was the realm of bandits, a nuisance but no real threat. Yet it was there that Tyrion was stopped by Stark's men. He was blindfolded and taken to see Stark's council. He knew his facing when the trek began and remembered every turning and its duration. They backtracked many times to confuse him. He is convinced the Stark main body is encamped here." Tywin placed a wolf's head piece on the map south of Harrenhal athwart the kingsroad.

"Yet he writes that he was not unmasked until he had entered Stark's pavilion. It might still be a ruse. Mayhap only the council traveled to this spot. The main camp could be anywhere."

"An elaborate hoax to convince him he was just where he expected to be? I don't believe Stark thinks he has the luxury to march his captains around just to stage a show. No, they took him to the main camp. And then there is this curious business of the Frey wench. Stark has a concubine and is not shy to reveal it. A slip of a girl the Tully's recruited to behead Lord Walder? It beggars all. Tyrion was much taken with her; she leads a troop of her own and was entrusted with his escort. You've been to the Crossing. Did you notice her?"

"There were so many, Tywin, and so many named Walda. Our sister thought it amusing to introduce them all. I suppose it was inevitable that a prize would someday emerge from that herd. Stevron seems to have accepted her but I know of other Freys who would never be reconciled to a kinslayer; and not only among Genna's brood. We may glean some benefit from this. It could prove Stark's undoing."

"We may not have the time for such plots to bear out. The pup's strategy is starving us. If we can't lure him into storming Harrenhal we'll draw him out in the field. We will meet Jaime's attack below Riverrun, crushing whatever force lies between. Then together we'll catch Stark against the God's Eye."

"And his terms?"

"Dreams. He'll waken to hear my terms, shackled at my feet. And then he'll see his whore raped by a company of sellswords. Somehow he is responsible for the murders; Tyrion will tease out the truth. And if he fails I have a tickler who will."

_**Grand Maester Pycelle**_ lay strapped to a board, face up. The board was inclined with his head lower than his feet. A wet cloth covered his face. A black robed inquisitor acolyte liberally applied water to the cloth from a bucket. Two more acolytes and their maester wearing his square judicial cap sat at a table beside the board, each with parchment and quill, sipping cups of wine. The acolyte farthest to the right attentively observed the sand pass through the narrow opening between the twin globes of a large graduated glass. Periodically he would make an annotation to his parchment. "Stop! Raise him up." Two guards came forward, removed the cloth and tilted the board upright. Pycelle sagged against the straps and began to cough violently, bringing up volumes of water. "We will resume questioning, Grand Maester Pycelle. Who paid you to kill King Joffrey?"

"I told you before, no one! I had no hand in this! Rhaegar attacked the king and stole my parchment knife. He used it to cut Elia loose. I told Clegane."

"That is not what we wish to hear, Grand Maester Pycelle. Begin again!"

The guards began to tilt the board back, when a man out of Pycelle's sight spoke. "Maester inquisitor, wait." He walked around so that Pycelle could see him.

"Lord … _King_ Stannis forgive me that I am unable to bow."

"Tell me of this bird."

"A rogue! I should have suspected, he returned from Riverrun _changed_. I thought he had flown off to the Citadel, seeking promotion. Next I saw him, he was attacking King Joffrey, the poor boy, screaming Winterfell! Even then I hoped to save him from the king's wrath. I never contemplated his true purpose. More fool I!"

Maester Cressen came up beside Stannis. "How many names did Rhaegar know?"

"Cressen, you here, too? I would offer a drink, but they drown me in water not wine. Names, you say? Why, let me see, Red Keep, of course; then Riverrun. You would know Dragonstone, he's flown there enough times. Winterfell, High Garden, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, the Eyrie, Sunspear, Pyke. All the great houses."

"By the Gods, that's ten!"

"A remarkable bird; and one more, the Citadel. It is said that Archmaester Walgrave trained and named him. Naturally such a bird could only be assigned to the Grand Maester. I treated him well, even arranging trysts with his mate. All the eggs I sent to the Ravenry. He must have many descendants in service."

"Why did you suspect he had deserted you for the Citadel?"

"Did I not say he had changed? His feathers were turning white. He had survived an attack. The weir eagle's talon marks were on him. His flesh was pierced. He was becoming a white raven before my eyes! The Conclave would want him. But he was far too valuable for them. I knew he would not leave without Elia, so I used her as bait for a trap."

Stannis spoke. "And he used your knife? Baelish tells me they found that knife in Joffrey's bed."

"You see! Rhaegar used it to kill the king!"

"Joffrey was already dead, like the others, with your poison."

"Your Grace! I loved them! You must remember how I always favored the Lannisters, even when Aerys ruled! I am not the only one with knowledge of poisons."

"And you favored them when my brother ruled. That's why I brought Maester Cressen here. The Conclave will name him Grand Maester. But tell me this, what is a _weir eagle_?"

Your Grace, if Cressen is qualified to replace me he would know."

"The weir eagle heralds the approach of winter, your Grace. In summer it stays north of the Wall. When there are sightings in the south we prepare."

"I have lived through winters before, but never heard talk of this weir creature."

"They appear only before a long winter, a very long and harsh winter. There has not been such in my lifetime. They have something to do with the white walkers, perhaps they are warged. No one knows for sure."

"And what does it mean to be attacked by one?"

"If not immediately fatal, legend has it that the victim is transformed."

"Into what?"

"It is only legend, my King; it would be foolish to give it much credence."

"Cressen, tell him or I will!"

"Some demonic creature like itself, spreading icy death beneath its wings."

"You wanted such a monster for yourself?"

"I would see for myself if all the legends were true. It would increase my understanding."

"So, it is merely an academic interest; but enough of this idle talk of magic. Answer a real question Pycelle, who do you believe is the poisoner?"

"Clegane, Slynt, Baelish, Varys, perhaps even the Queen. A mother distraught for some reason may commit the unthinkable act and murder her own."

"And Robb Stark?"

"Yes, of course; if he had some means. The message he sent by Rhaegar from Riverrun threatened blood for blood."

"And my brother?"

"Ah, your Grace, you would know better than I."

Stannis turned to go, and then paused. "Maester inquisitor, you may resume."

_**Maester Cressen**_ and King Stannis walked together along a corridor. Stannis went slowly so the old man could keep pace. "I believe there are already warrants for Clegane and Rhaegar. Let us be sure that the bird is taken alive. The evidence is sufficient to place him on trial."

"And on what charge?"

"There's Joffrey's original warrant for insult and injury to the person of the king. We could add desecration of the dead; and if you can imagine how a bird may mix potions, murder. There is that feather found beside Cersei."

"Your Grace, in trials of beasts a court appointed advocate is necessary."

"You have someone in mind?"

"Yes, sire; there is really only one person qualified, Maester Gormon, judge of ravencraft at the Citadel."

"Is he not the uncle of Lord Mace Tyrell?"

"This is so, your Grace."

"I will send for him immediately; he will need time to prepare his case."

"Should we not first have the defendant in custody?"

"Whatever; it may prove advantageous to have Mace's uncle at court."

"My King, you would make me Grand Maester knowing my age and infirmities. I believe you value my advice, the untempered truth."

"And now you will give it. But wait. I would visit the Godswood first." They turned down another corridor, climbed a flight of stairs and came to a heavy barred door. Two guards wearing Baratheon livery quickly opened it. They stepped outside and went to rest on a stone bench beneath the ancient heart tree.

"My King, there is a rumor in the city. Many say that you plotted the murders."

"Then it should be clear why I should appear so interested in discovering the truth, the untempered variety."

"But if the truth leads to the Lady Melisandre?"

"Now how would that be possible? We were all in Dragonstone. But you still harbor doubts. Why did you not simply ask her? You were both on the same ship."

"My King, does not she too serve only you? There are things I would refuse to do. You know this yet still retain me. But she … the murder of children is not beyond her or her god. Was it by your order?"

Stannis turned and held out his hand to the Red Priestess as she walked out from behind the great oak.

"Good day, your Grace and soon-to-be Grand Maester Cressen. Forgive me but I could not avoid overhearing your conversation while I awaited the King. As for your question, I am not certain of all I am capable in service to R'hllor. Certainly the Lannisters are not above child murder. But no, it was not I. It rather bears the mark of faceless men and that would implicate one of great wealth. As for the rumor there are times when the innocent may profit from the machinations of the guilty. Perhaps our visitors may illuminate the mystery."

Cressen looked to the king, perplexed.

"As you know I was expecting an embassy or maybe two. But we now have reports of three approaching. Perhaps they come to bend the knee. But it would be foolish to think so."


	9. Respects

**Robb at the Crossing, Part IX**

**Respects**

_**Tyrion **_listened attentively to the tavern keeper. "They're calling it the _Red Night_. I saw it, the comet that is. Its tail stretched half way across the sky; red as the hidden moon. And there was a sort of flickering like a curtain moving in a breeze. In the morning Baelor's bells started ringing and the criers announced the bloody news from the Red Keep. Many thought it a trick to smoke out traitors. But then we heard about the riot and all those loyal to the throne rushed to join. Of course that was all of us. The Tyroshi didn't put up much of a fight. Never liked their kind much, greedy and look funny; should all go back where they came from."

Tyrion had just arrived in King's Landing and sought to regain his land legs by visiting the port side establishments. The voyage from Rook's Roost had been tempestuous. Indeed the captain had been sheltering when Tyrion and his company rode up. He agreed to continue despite the poor weather only because of the bonus Tyrion offered. Bronn, Podrick and a servant boy were included in the passage but not the clansmen. The captain had taken one look and concluded his cargo of wine and perhaps the ship itself would not survive the voyage. This did not entirely disappoint them being hesitant to commit their fates to a battered carrack. None had ever been to sea and were not eager to broaden their experience this blustery day. As they did not expect to see Tyrion alive again Timett and Shagga demanded to be paid off. After some spirited negotiation they finally accepted a portion in gold and the remainder in a note payable by Lord Tywin. He emphasized the importance of delivering along with the note a personal message to his father extolling their valiant service. More intrepid than their erstwhile companions Tyrion and Bronn proved equally as thirsty. Their consumption was duly recorded and added to the fare. All these travel expenses left Tyrion a little short. Consequently the tavern they found themselves in was of the more modest variety. Although the choice was limited and the quality poor Tyrion, mindful of the possibilities in hapless circumstance, knew such places were excellent sources of gossip and rumor. The keeper had much to relate.

"Oh, we had our doubts, still. None of us could remember a time when there were no Lannisters alive in the city. 'Must be a traitor in the Kingsguard', some said, like with the Mad King. And then by the next day everyone knew that the Hound had deserted. Well, good ser, that was enough for me; too bad about all those Tyroshi. Weren't about to return anything we took; can't be responsible for an honest mistake, don't you know. This war has not helped us much. We all were hungry. Best thing King Stannis has done, bringing in those ships." He waved his arm to encompass the whole of Blackwater Rush. Vessels large and small filled the port; merchant men aplenty but the numerous war galleys stood out boldly.

"And do the people still doubt?" prompted Tyrion.

"The second thing Stannis did, laid the bodies out in Baelor for all to see. Oh, the sight of the little prince and princess! Many wept. The Queen, still beautiful even in death. Young Lancel, the very image of Jaime, so they say. The King, though; I must say my feelings were somewhat mixed, don't you know. Oh, the Silent Sisters worked their craft well, but his head just didn't fit right. Some broken things can't be put together again, it's not worth the trying. You should go see for yourself, good ser, and soon. They won't keep much longer, must have used all the ice in the cellars by now. There's a river of melt flowing into the street."

"You'd seen them in life?"

"I was there when they struck off ol' Ned's head. Saw the King and Queen then. From a distance mind you. Lancel and the children? No, never. But many had and I have no reason to doubt them."

"The Tyroshi you mentioned, why did so many readily believe they were guilty?"

"Why it seemed obvious. The flour merchant, just the day before; the King had his sport with him. They say he was so frightened by Joffrey's aim with the crossbow that the old Tyroshi soiled his pants. Shot a bolt right between his legs. Joffrey had him wipe it up with his beard and then sent him to the Black Cells. And then the most amazing thing happened, one can scarce believe."

Suddenly attentive, Bronn asked, "And where was all this?"

"In the Great Hall, many witnessed it. But the amazing thing was the bird."

"This is too much; tell me it was a raven."

"Just so, good ser; may I refill your cup?"

"To the brim, keep. And what about this raven was so amazing?"

"Of course I was not there myself; not of any mind to really. The ladies I understand are quite lovely, but too many angry men with weapons. I'll stay right here, thank you very much. We do have a few lovely ladies frequenting this ward. Of course we observe the new edicts but if you or your companions are of a mind I would be more than pleased to arrange an assignation, as they say. Perhaps with a discount for the boy?"

"A tempting proposal; but if I recall correctly you were preparing to reveal an amazing occurrence involving a raven."

"Oh most certainly; I am prone to digress at times. Well, as I was saying, I do not speak of first hand events but you can ask anyone in the city and he'll tell the tale alike."

"And with that disclaimer well understood …?"

"The bird, they say, had concealed itself amid the ceiling beams directly above the Iron Throne. It waited until all eyes were on the king and then let loose a very torrent of droppings. The king was nearly drowned! He invoked the sacred Mother. And the raven swooped about all around the hall screaming in a demonic voice, _Vengeance for Winterfell!_"

"I can well imagine Joffrey's anger. Was the bird captured and punished?"

"Sadly not. A generous reward was offered. No bird was safe that night. Now, there are those who say that the bird was the spirit of dead Ned incarnate. And that very night vengeance was exacted!"

"A telling argument. I will visit the Great Sept of Baelor and see if there are any tell-tale indications of murder by raven. Bronn, would you care to accompany me?"

"When I finish this bottle. It tastes better the more I drink. Not to be a prick about it, but elements of our host's story sound very familiar. What did you say her bird's name was?"

"Rhaegar. Keep, any reports on that spiritual raven's color?"

"Black I would surmise; aren't all ravens black?"

"Actually not all. And that would be first-hand."

"Well now, I will add that nugget to my natural philosophy. But please excuse me, I must check on preparations for the afternoon trade. We have a large pot of brown stewing in the kitchen."

"Any raven in it?" Podrick asked. Bronn slapped him on the back.

"Ha! Nothing worth eating on those birds." The keeper got up and left.

"Better than rat. Don't like it when there's too much rat in it."

"A taste widely shared, Pod. And yet you find the cuisine of King's Landing so over-ratted."

A slight cowled figure came up to the tavern, peered inside, stared at Tyrion, slowly walked up to his table, and sat down. "So, is this where I'll stay, m'lord? Charming."

"I told you to wait in the boat while I looked for lodging. It is not wise for you to be seen with me."

"I was bored; besides the captain was becoming too familiar. He offered the use of his cabin. Is this any good?" She took a sip from his cup and made a face. "You should go back to the boat. Oh! But you can't afford any better. Will it be up to me to earn our keep?"

"Shae," he whispered, "a Lannister's solvency is never doubted. I will soon be flush again. Bronn, here has no doubts. Bronn?"

"None at all. Lannisters shit gold."

"I have not yet needed that skill. My house still has credit in this city. But first I must pay my respects."

"How much will that cost?"

"A small contribution is customary but not required. You may wish to wait outside."

"No, I'll go with you, m'lord, but six steps behind."

Tyrion squeezed her hand. "You know where I'm going?"

"It's the only thing people talk of in this city."

_**Tyrion**_ and Bronn walked together, Pod and Shae followed at a respectful distance. They entered the city at the Mud Gate, crossed Fishmonger's Square, and then up Muddy Way to the foot of Visenya's Hill. The approach to the Great Sept was crowded with festive townsfolk climbing and descending. Bronn walked ahead to clear a path. When Tyrion slipped on a cobble stone, Pod rushed forward to offer his arm for support. The street was wet and as they neared the Sept the water could be seen flowing from the doors. A great wain laden with blocks of ice covered in straw and sawdust lumbered past them. It added its drip to the current. "The cellars here are unfathomable, Pod; fire and ice, ice and fire."

There were gold cloaks stationed at the entrance to control the crowd. Enterprising vendors worked the lines, hawking sweets, drinks and "genuine" Lannister relics. Tyrion examined one peddler's selection. Someone had gone to great trouble to create from fired clay figurines of family notables. The likenesses were actually quite good. The crafter must have frequented court. There was even one of himself. It was out of scale with the others. He bought it and one of his father. When he was settled he would place both side by side on his desk. There at least, _Tyrion_ would stand as tall as _Tywin_.

He listened to the talk around him. There were complaints about the wait, how warm it had become, whether Stannis would burn the Septon, and how little there was to buy in the market. A lad behind Tyrion was loudly demanding to go home. Then, "look at the ugly little man! Does he do tricks, mummy?" He was laughing and pointing. Pod and Shae quickly came between Tyrion and the boy. Bronn turned and glared at him and then at his parents. "You'd best leave, now." Tyrion watched them hurrying back down the hill. "Long live the king," he muttered.

When it was their turn Tyrion and his party entered the Great Sept of Baelor. The seven chapels were in deep shadow. The rotunda itself was normally illuminated with a multitude of candles and lamps. But high in the cupola a large mirrored panel had been installed long ago. It was mounted on a curved track. On sunny days like this a team of acolytes would constantly adjust its angle and orientation to reflect a shaft of light onto the floor. It created a striking and warming effect. The five coffins rested in deep tubs filled with ice, the melt draining onto the floor where wood channels had been placed. The King's was in the center, the others at the cardinal points. A Kingsguard stood rigidly at the head of each coffin. They rotated their position on the hour. Tyrion recognized them: Meryn Trant, Boros Blount, Mandon Moore, Preston Greenfield, and Arys Oakheart. He would have a word with each. Trant guarded Joffrey's remains; he started there.

Tyrion was immediately reminded of the tavern keeper's comment; Joffrey's head did not sit right. He fought an impulse to reach into the coffin and try to straighten it. Of regret or sorrow he felt nothing. As he walked around the coffin he sensed Trant watching him. He stopped in front and thumped Ser Trant's breastplate with his thumb. "Hot in there, Trant, even with all this ice? I hear Stannis burns kingslayers. But come to Casterly Rock with Joffrey here and my father will only take your head."

Trant did not look down. "Everyone knows the Hound did it, imp. Boros was there, too; he'll tell you."

"I heard he had an accomplice."

"Pycelle, he mixed the poison. The eunuch and Littlefinger had him arrested even before Stannis got here."

"Was there not another … of the feathered kind?"

"Pycelle's pet? Bird shit!"

"Yes, that; but did you happen to catch his name?"

"The Hound said _Rhaegar_. Hmmm … that's better." At his height Tyrion noticed the darkening of Trant's pants leg. The piss would be lost on the floor.

Ser Boros guarded the Queen's remains. Tyrion could see nothing in the stout man's pig eyes to reveal the slightest emotion. Discomfort, yes; sweat from his brow dripped into his eyes causing him to blink. Otherwise he stared straight ahead. Tyrion looked down at his sister and felt his feelings knotted. Now that she was gone he could admit to himself that it was her hatred that had hurt the most. There were families he had known where older sisters had doted on their younger siblings, even assuming a mother's role in her absence. How different things might have been. One thing he was sure of, her love for her children. Was it conceivable that she would murder them? He'd heard such stories. But he who had never known a mother's love could not imagine such a thing. He revered mothers and had come to despise fathers. The thought occurred to him, how would he react if a son of his was born a dwarf? It frightened him. He genuinely didn't know; another reason to hate himself.

"Blount, down here. Clegane said something that night. How do you recall it?"

"You, imp? Here to gloat? All your betters dead, your kind must find it amusing."

"No, I find it puzzling that they're dead while you and your brothers appear in fine health. I'll be amused when you answer to Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime. Think on that before you answer my question."

Boros, swallowed hard; his mouth was dry. He craved a strong ale. "The King told him to find the fucking bird that shat on him. The Hound said it was one of Pycelle's birds; Rhaegar."

"See; that wasn't so hard. I may even find a good word to put in for you. Or not."

Next was Lancel, his cousin. They'd hardly exchanged a word and Tyrion had seldom given him a thought. Why was he here with the others, all royals? Ser Mandon was his guard. No feelings in those dead fish eyes, either. "Lancel was King Robert's squire. Served him well, did he not?"

"You're asking my opinion, _lord _Tyrion? Well enough, I suppose. King Robert had no cause for complaint, right up until the end. He never lacked for wine."

"Just so. I sometimes wondered."

He had been avoiding the children. This would be hard. Tommen's guard was Ser Preston. "You were there when King Robert was gored?"

"Not the question I was expecting. No, alas, I was elsewhere. The King had me beating the brush. He rode off with young Lancel close behind. You're too late to question him."

"Indeed." Finally he looked into the coffin. They had used an adult size and the child appeared lost in it. Someone who knew him had placed a small stuffed animal under his arm, a cat; no, a _lion_. They could have stopped with Joffrey and Cersei. But they wanted to extinguish the line completely. There was something else, a child size wooden practice sword. It was by his side partially hidden by a fold in the shroud. Was it the one from Winterfell? What an ill-fated duel that was. For a moment he feared he'd lose control. His eyes were tearing. He paused, took a deep breath, despite the smell of corruption, and nearly stumbled stepping the few feet to the last coffin. Ser Arys stood guard. Of all the Kingsguard he alone was solemn; grieving, perhaps. Maybe there was a man here. "Can there be any reason for her death?"

Ser Arys had watched him approach. "My lord, if you forgive me, the Princess was best loved of the Lannisters. It could only have been to hurt."

"But with both brothers dead the throne would have passed to her."

"She would never have ruled, wed to a Martell or Tyrell within a year. And he would expect to rule as King with no by your leave."

"Exactly. She was a prize." He looked at her then and steadied himself with both hands on the coffin. "Arys, do this for me; I can't reach her without falling in. Cut a lock of her hair. I will carry it as a talisman, a reminder of the bloody vengeance that is her due." The Kingsguard did not hesitate and with care removed a golden tress with his dagger. He then gently arranged her hair to conceal his work. "Thank you."

As he turned from Myrcella he noticed the High Septon standing nearby in conversation with a well set young man in armor wearing a wide gold baldric. His glance followed the High Septon's finger pointing to Tyrion. Their eyes met; they nodded to each other. The man walked up to Tyrion and abruptly bowed. "Tyrion Lannister? You are as they describe."

"It is flattering to be so well recognized. And you, ser?"

"My apologies. Dale Seaworth, Commander of the City Watch. A recent appointment. You may have noticed my ship the _Wraith_ in the harbor." He appeared wistful for a moment and then offered his hand. They shook. "We had word of your visit. Please come with me into the chapel of the Stranger. It is less crowded. You could have bypassed the lines. The King left instructions that any Lannisters need not wait with the smallfolk."

"Actually I am quite at home among the smallfolk. Ah … have there been many Lannisters?

"No, ser; you're the only one. King Stannis would have preferred Tywin or the Kingslayer."

"Once again I disappoint. Seaworth, Seaworth … I am familiar with that name."

"Must be my father, Ser Davos, the Hand of the King. Another recent appointment."

"Yes, the Onion Knight. King Stannis is not a man to waste time or capable men."

"He would have you attend his court tomorrow morning, at six of the clock."

"My, an early riser. The last time I woke that early I was nearly killed."

"Not likely here, Tyrion … may I call you so? I have been tasked with your safety."

"You needn't bother; I am beloved in King's Landing if not all the Seven Kingdoms. Sales of my likeness are booming. Besides I have my own protection." Bronn had come up beside Tyrion and nodded, smiling.

"Good day, ser. Be that as it may I ask that you humor me in this. The King was definite. His hospitality extends to the Red Keep. I am to escort you and your entourage there and see to your comfort."

"Well, I have already made other arrangements for our accommodation but it is well said that when the king offers one accepts."

"Just what my father says."

"He sounds like a man I could do business with. Perhaps there is a possibility I could attend the King this evening or perhaps meet with the Hand separately?"

"They will be entertaining other visitors. I fear you are late one day."

"The embassy from the Starks? Lady Catelyn is here?"

"Yes. She led us to believe that your arrival would be delayed some days. But I was taught never to assume anything. My watchers were alerted."

"I made no secret of my identity; it would have been futile in this city. Was there a young woman in Lady Catelyn's party? I believe her name is Walda. We met on my journey."

"Quite so." Tyrion noticed Dale's expression brighten. "A true beauty, yet she seemed ill. There was a sadness in her eyes, perhaps in deference to Lady Catelyn's feelings. She asked to see her husband's remains. The King advised her not to, but she insisted. If I may say you do not appear overly troubled by this massacre."

"I have been judged by my appearance since birth. It is seldom an accurate measure. Joffrey was cruel and cowardly. Cersei wished me dead; she corrupted Lancel. The children … I loved."

"I am sorry about the young ones, but their deaths gave Stannis the throne and a chance for peace."

"Oh, is that what he wants? It may have spared him a battle for King's Landing but his rivals are men with armies. Many will still die."

"Is that the message you bring?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this further elsewhere? But tell me this, did the Lady Walda have a large white raven with her?"

"Raven? No, but it is curious you should mention a bird. I have a warrant to arrest a certain Rhaegar, for insult and injury to the crown. If he does not present himself in two days he shall be declared outlaw."

"The Rhaegar I know is most obedient to authority. I am sure that when he hears of your summons he will come to roost. However, he may not be in the city; flown the coop, so to speak."

"Criers have been sent throughout the Crownlands to proclaim the summons. I am new to this job but I know that much."

"Excuse me Ser Dale; it is only that birds are so seldom prosecuted these days."

"True enough. Pigs I've seen tried. In a poor village a three-year old had gone missing. A sow and her piglets were found devouring the child's remains. The process lasted several days. The sow was condemned, dressed in a woman's clothes, hanged and burned. The advocate did manage to save the piglets. They were judged ignorant and under the sow's evil influence."

"Sounds a waste of good pork."

"The meat was tainted. The piglets were sold away. This was no joke to the villagers. They demanded the trial and what justice the lord provides. The lowborn value their lives as much as we. A child's murder must be punished, be she a princess or a pauper."

"It was a poor jest, Ser Dale. I am prone to make light of serious matters. My party is all here. Please lead us to the Red Keep."


End file.
